


Reaching

by Nanna_Jemima



Series: Bridging the Gaps - MCU One-Shots [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Everybody needs therapy, Gen, Guilt Is a Motivator, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Recovery, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Never Takes a Day Off, Why Rest When There Are Ulcers To Develop?, Why Would He?, is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanna_Jemima/pseuds/Nanna_Jemima
Summary: Reaching the end of one's tether, reaching too far, and reaching out. Tony's used to the first two. The last one, though. That's a tough bastard. Post-Civil War final battle thoughts that somehow grew into a little more story. Please note Civil War ending is a little AU and is detailed in the previous work in this series. Connected to the other works in this series.





	1. Chapter 1

Tony returned. It wasn't pretty. He hadn't expected it to be.

He knew Vision would be there. Aside from being distracted, his former A.I. had apparently also added glum, moody, contrite and downright devastated to his array of mental states. Tony was not yet fully prepared to call them emotions, though he knew he would probably have to do that eventually; sometime in the future. The future was not today.

_Stumbling through the Siberian facility after Cap and his popsicle had left had been a nightmare. True to their usual form the trail of destruction they left behind was considerable. He felt guilty. Not that he would ever admit it out loud – it was hard enough admitting it to himself. Not guilty for the damage to the old Soviet facility, but for all the damage their team had caused wherever they went._

Not something he could ponder right now. The most immediate issue he could actually see about fixing saw him spending all his waking hours in his workshop, reminiscent of the first couple of years after Afghanistan. This time he wasn't improving an arc reactor or his combat suit, but a set of civilian leg braces for the friend he'd gotten hurt. As he always did with his friends. Anyone near him inevitably got hurt by his actions, directly or indirectly.

_The room where he'd lost his temper was of little actual interest to him after the destruction their fight had caused, but he nonetheless gravitated towards it. He shouldn't have lost it like that. Now that he was thinking a bit more clearly, he remembered Barnes' guarded eyes anticipating the violence. The man's words kept flashing through his mind: I remember all of them. All of them. He needed to know how many._

Rhodey had several surgeries to repair as much of the damage as they could, but he was no serum-enhanced super soldier. Just an ordinary human that Tony had gotten in harm's way. Again. Slaving away over the harness he was constantly thinking of all those times Rhodey had had his back. A pair of robotic legs would be easy enough to make, and they would be easily strong enough to carry Rhodey's weight. But his friend had no need for a new pair, he needed the ones he had to work again. The interface between human and braces would be the real challenge.

_The wreckage was impressive. Even for their standards. In their defense, the power cores for the cryo tanks had been exceptionally flammable. Impressive that hadn't blown the entire place sky-high. As that conniving bastard, Zemo, had pointed out: the place was made to withstand a considerable onslaught. Tony had been right, though. He **had** been able to top it. He made his way to where the little cluster of control consoles had once been, to where he had watched Barnes murder his parents on that everso familiar road from the photographs. Where Barnes had watched him watch the clip, knowing full well and anticipating what the reaction would be. He had known. There was little chance the tape was intact._

Not one of the Rogues had returned. Yet. Tony didn't know whether he was disappointed or relieved. Vision hardly ever spoke a word and Rhodey... Rhodey was stubborn as a mule and willing to test every single iteration of a leg harness Tony came up with. It took a toll on him, but the Colonel was a good sport. The best. As always. Drenched in sweat and covered in bruises from the numerous falls, Rhodey continued to struggle on, as Tony worked om improving the neural interface needed for optimal control. If late 40s Hydra could make a fully operational bionic arm with a natural range of movement, he could make a set of leg braces with a natural range of movement. He just needed to get the human interface right. It was always all about the human interface. It always got bungled. Robots were easier.

_The chamber where Zemo had shielded himself from their wrath was next. It hadn't been razed in their carnage. He found the box. Papers – probably mission briefings, reports and debriefings – he couldn't decipher since he spoke not a word of Russian, though the text on the box itself contained enough significant numbers for him to recognise the name of the month, December. And there were more tapes. Hopefully at least one of them would be a copy. Or he would have to make do with his suit recordings of watching the video._

The much-needed sound of Rhodey's laughter from that day was still ringing in his ears as he re-read Steve's letter for the umpteenth time. Idly he wondered if Steve would appreciate the nickname, the courier had unwittingly provided him with. Rhodey had kept using it, though only when no one else was around. Vision had disappeared, been gone for weeks and returned this morning Wanda in tow. She was the first of the Rogues to return and the last Tony had expected. Perhaps if he had dedicated more time to really know his old teammates he might not have been surprised; neither by her willing return nor by her connection with Vision. Or maybe he would. It was hard to tell. Once again with the human interface. Robots were easier.

_The writing on the wall – or in this case on the box – was clear. It was one of many. He would have to dig deeper. Stumbling deeper into the facility he skipped past several rooms in a hurry if they didn't look like archives. Friday kept badgering him about his contusions, lacerations and whatever else, but he had to know. When he finally found the shelves with dated boxes, he was acutely aware that there were broken bones in his right hand, from when Barnes had crushed his gauntlet and the focal lens of the repulsor. His left boot was probably all that was holding the bones of his arch together. Thanks, Cap. Owe you one._

He had watched the video so many times now. He wasn't looking at the crumpled car any longer. Nor at his father's confused expression as he uttered Barnes' name. Nor the bloody mess it was after the very same Barnes smashed his face to a pulp with two quick strikes. Nor did he count the horrifyingly long seconds where Barnes' right hand was closed around his mother's throat. He **had** done all those things, but now he was looking at Barnes. His calm, deliberate, even slow movements as he methodically completed his mission to exact specifications. His eyes devoid of life, devoid of intelligence, of understanding. He was like a zombie. Like a robot. It was a morbid fascination. Tony knew how to deal with robots.

_Friday easily translated a few titles and headlines for him. There were missions and there was research. Tony needed to bring it all back. It wouldn't do to leave it here to fall into enemy hands. Especially not if he was to have any luck with the clean-up he had said he would attempt. The clean-up he was already regretting signing up for. He poked through several boxes, the dry arctic air having spared the archives of all forms of mould, all were intact. And HYDRA sure seemed to like to film everything they did. Including some of their experiments. He found a viewer and rolled a tape that caught his eye. It had no sound – maybe it was on one of the others in the box – but it turned out to be for the best. It was Barnes, almost unrecognizable with a shaved head, but the metal arm was a dead giveaway. And it was also the most violent round of electro-shock therapy Tony had ever seen or even heard of. Before his very eyes a defiant man became a compliant robot._

He had watched the video of Barnes' torture three times in all. Once still in the facility, once the day after coming back, because he had begun to doubt if he had imagined it, and it had all just been himself wishing pain on his parents' murderer. Tony was well aware he had not been in the best of mental states that night. The third time was when he showed it to Fury and shared his thoughts about B.A.R.F. possibly, no probably meeting its match here. Barnes had broken HYDRAs hold on him, but Zemo had managed to re-establish it, and Tony didn't know how. For now they had to rely on Steve to keep Barnes safe and away from anyone or anything that might do what Zemo had done. But that was one thing. That was strictly about the literal control. The consequences of having experienced such a magnitude of pain and lack of control. He knew them all too well. They had cost him his relationship with Pepper, among many other things.

_He was relieved there was no sound. He felt no inclination to look for a tape with the OST for **that** scene. His everso helpful brain had been quite active in supplying imaginary screams in accordance with what happened on the grainy black and white footage. The similarly imaginary silence had been just as deafening. Barnes' dead eyes haunted him when he hurriedly shuffled back the way he came. He wasn't sure whether it was from the video with his parents' murder or the one he viewed in the archive. He took a wrong turn somewhere. Friday did point it out, but he was too much of a mess to care. He ended up in a room he recognised from the second video. It was all too real. What little food he'd had time to eat before he left for the Raft and then Siberia he threw up by the wall of that hall of horrors._

It had been months – several of them – since Ross had called and let him know they'd all escaped from The Raft. He kept tabs on those he could, which weren't many. Clint and Lang were in house arrest. Tony may or may not have put in a good word with general Ross to get him to allow it. Steve would never leave anyone behind unless they chose it. That was the soldier in him; the training and cameraderie Tony had never truly experienced with anyone. Except maybe the latter with Rhodey. Maybe that's why he liked the idea of the Accords, if not precisely every word of the actual deals. He had always been an individualist, and he had gotten so many people hurt. That might have been fine had he been a regular person, but with Stark Industries and later on Iron Man he had caused more damage than he could ever undo. The justifiably angry Ms. Spencer had been right on the money, when she had identified guilt as being his motivation, not that he'd speak it out loud. The Accords would have to be an acceptable replacement for the fallen S.H.I.E.L.D. And in the meantime Steve seemed to operate in accordance with an authority that might have existed in the 40s but certainly didn't anymore. Did the man even know how much military ops had changed?

_As he made his way topside to call the helicopter to his location, Barnes' sad, tired eyes from after their fight kept staring at him. Tony needed the chopper's functioning transmitters to have an actual conversation with Fury and Hill. He needed painkillers. Barnes' dead eyes from the video bored into the back of his head. And a drink. Possibly both. He would have to hang out here with zombie-Barnes' eyes hovering around him until a suitable transport could be here. Or at least until other people could come and keep watch on his behalf. Maybe he could just ask Barnes to watch the area rather than him he sniggered to himself. Theorhetically he didn't need to explain anything other than it having been a HYDRA base and they needed to empty it of intel and gear, but he wanted Fury and Hill in on why they needed to handle this delicately in very restricted circles. He certainly didn't want to explain the sympathy for a man who, just like himself, had done more damage than he could ever undo._

He had been unable to go through all of the archived material yet, but he had sorted it into four categories: First; super soldier research, secondly; research documentation and anything else pertaining to one Sergeant Barnes, thirdly; winter soldier missions pertaining to the members of that elite death squad they had all thought Zemo had wanted to take control of and lastly missions pertaining to the prototype Winter Soldier. There was scientific interest, medical as well as robotics, there were intel-matters, there was the issue of knowing root-causes to best allay the resulting symptoms, and there were things needed if Steve's friend was to ever have a hope of re-connecting with the world. And maybe there was just a little bit of personal interest as well. Maybe.

Tony eyed the phone Steve had sent him. He picked it up, put it down, and picked it up again. Finally he decided. Steve had reached out with the letter. Thinking about the lies and betrayals still stung, but Steve **had** reached out, and with a little distance the man's actions had made a kind of sense to Tony. Maybe except for actively trying to kill him. That one Tony had decided to retain the right to be angry and twitchy over for a good while yet. The fact that it was Barnes that had prevented Steve from killing him still did not really compute. But he did know he'd been remiss in one thing and Barnes' eyes still haunted him.

The ball was in his court after Steve's letter, Tony knew that. His invitation to join up at the compound still stood, but perhaps Steve doubted it had been genuine and had been testing the waters with the letter and the phone. And the wish to be the last to return.

Tony looked over the rough sketch of an idea. He was maybe not quite ready to talk yet, but he could text Steve.

“Hey Steve. Tell Barnes thanks from me. Compound's secure and ready for you. Both. Tony.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for there to be more chapters. But here we are. It just happened. Tony's been doing some thinking and some tinkering, and as always keeping tabs on everything imaginable and unimaginable.

Still no word from Cap. It had only been a week. Tony didn't know how to feel about it. So he chose not to feel anything.

He had Friday constantly keeping tabs on any reports of the Rogues or anything that might resemble Rogue activity, even just remotely. They popped up here and there. Only Cap and Wilson, though. No word of Barnes or Nat, not that it surprised him. Those two were trained to move in the shadows, and were far more dangerous than the former two. Not that he thought they were up to no good, but not knowing still irked him. He missed having people around the compound. Maybe he didn't miss anyone specific in particular, especially not after some of the barbs thrown his way in The Raft, but still.

Yeah. He missed Nat. He would admit that. Always one to call him on his bullshit. That had been the very last thing she'd done before leaving. He could really have used her help with the Winter Soldier files. He had tried to go through them several times, but hadn't been able. Letting Friday scan and organise everything for perusal at his leisure felt wrong somehow; like a cop-out. No. He had to do it the right way. It was personal. And he couldn't quite figure out, why he felt it was personal for him. It niggled right at the edges of his mind and he hated not being able to pin it down.

“Boss?” Friday interrupted his train of thought. “There's something you'll want to see...”

“What is it, Fri?”

“Someone unknown to us has just signed the Sokovia Accords.”

That got his attention. If they were unknown even to the extensive Avengers databases, which included everything Nat had dumped from SHIELD's servers after the HYDRA debacle, then they had been very good at flying under the radar. So why hadn't they kept to that level of anonymity and just continued to officially not exist? “Really? Show me what you have on them.”

“It's not much, boss. They're military personnel, and the Council's registrars haven't yet received all files on them. It seems they're still in some sort of negotiations.”

“Get me Rhodey, Fri. Either he knows about this, or he'll want to.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

The very brief summary on the new signee of the Accords was exactly as Friday had said: not much. A combat engineer. Country of origin, not yet disclosed, Tony guessed the release of that information was pending negotiations with said country. Still an active service member apparently. So... an expert on explosives. That didn't make for a so-called enhanced individual as per the Accords. There were many such people across the world.

That was all there was, and after the second quiet beep, Rhodey picked up. “Tones?”

“Rhodey! You haven't been letting anyone else fly your suit during your reconvalescence, right?”

“What?” His friend sounded as puzzled as he had expected. “You know I wouldn't do that. What the hell kind of weird idea have you just had?”

“If no one else has been in a suit of ours... do we have a US combat engineer that's enhanced in a way that would require them to sign the Accords?”

“What? Tony, what's this about?” Rhodey sounded increasingly agitated, but he couldn't really be bothered right now. This was important.

“Someone military has just signed the Accords, and I don't know who it is, and I want to know.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“Tony, do me a favour and start from the beginning.”

“The beginning is very close to the end. That's why I'm calling you. Someone signed, . don't know who it is. I want to find out.”

Rhodey sighed. The long-suffering sigh Tony had become very accustomed to hearing in his presence. “Tones, listen to me. Sit on your hands and do absolutely nothing until I am there to keep you out of trouble.”

“Sure, sure. No trouble to get into right now, far as I can tell. If they signed the Accords, they can be talked to. I hope.” He chuckled lightly. “That's all I want to do. Talk. Find out who they are.”

“Tony. Relax. Pause. Breathe. I'm in the suit now. I'll be at the Compound in less than an hour. Do nothing until I'm there, you hear?”

“Rhodey, why d'you think I called you?”

The silence at the other end spoke volumes. “I'm sorry, Tones. You didn't deserve that.”

“Glad we agree on that at least.”

* * * * *

By the time Rhodey arrived at the compound Tony had managed to tie himself in knots. Not even his oldest friend trusted him, but could he blame him? He couldn't trust himself.

It was the reason he had so readily agreed to the Accords, if not in detail then at least in concept. They called it checks and balances for a reason, and he had managed to prove exactly why they were necessary, when he went to Siberia. Even when he had accepted that Barnes had been framed, going to Siberia had been ill-advised and had played right into Zemo's hands. The Sokovian intelligence officer had done his homework. He had known exactly which buttons to push, and Tony had let him. Not only that; Tony had let Zemo win, had let him drive a wedge between them, just as they had been about to reconcile their differences. And it had all been on him.

Hindsight being 20/20 and all, it was all on his head. He should never have followed them to Siberia. Had Cap and Barnes been there just the two of them, they could have taken on Zemo. Even the threat of that death squad Wilson had said Barnes remembered could have been managed.

Had he brought someone to have his back – Nat or T'Challa, who'd gone there anyway – they might have kept him grounded, but no, he had to go off on his own. And he had fucked everything up, because some clever, manipulate asshole had found a weak point.

Feelings made everything a mess. That's why he preferred robots. They were easier.

He met his friend on the roof by the landing pad and decided to reassure Rhodey that he did actually intend to listen to his advice.

“Friday, the Adult Supervision Service has arrived, you can stop witholding information now.”

Rhodey's faceplate retracted and revealed a broad grin. “I'm sorry again, Tony. I know you're trying.”

He chuckled evilly in response. “Why do you think I got you **that** acronym?”

His friend halted, smile faltering everso slightly as he registered what Tony had just called him. That splitsecond confusion was worth a lot. “You know, if you really wanted me to forget about Tony Stank, I'd think you'd be more careful with your backronyms.”

Laughing together was something Tony didn't have a lot of people left to do with. He relished it when it happened. Rhodey thumped along by his side, opting to not ditch the suit until they were closer to where they'd talk. It had been a lot easier to modify the heavy combat suit to account for his injury than to build a reliable brace. The latter still wasn't perfected. Tony tried not to think about it too much. Whenever he did, the inevitable wave of guilt always sent him for a tailspin for days.

“So, talk to me. What's going on?”

Tony shrugged as he indicated the door to one of the smaller meeting rooms. “Friday alerted me to a new signee. The only information I got was active service combat engineer, country of origin undisclosed, negotiations pending.”

“That's not much to go on.” Rhodey stepped out of the suit, leaving it in a corner in favour of sitting in one of the comfortable chairs. “So why not wait for more information before calling me?”

“I figured if they were US, you might know something, and if they're not, you'd want to know.”

“Yeah, I got that. I haven't heard anything. I made a few calls on the way here, and no one could tell me anything.” He winced slightly. “Or no one would. That's also an option. But this could have been handled without me showing up here. What's your real agenda?”

“Like I said, I want to talk to whoever they are.”

“I'm pretty sure your phone works, when I'm not present, Tones. What's it really about?”

Tony glared hard at his friend. He was really going to make him say it. Dammit. “Permission.”

That at least had Rhodey pause and consider the full scope of the situation. “Go on...?”

“I have a strong urge to just find out everything I can and get in touch, but after everything...” He didn't fully know what he was going to say. “After the Accords, after Berlin, Siberia, you know...”

“I'm pretty sure you're not forbidden from calling a person you want to call, Tony.”

“Dammit, Rhodey! All the mistrust we've managed to sow... the last thing I wanna do is give the appearance of colluding or conspiring with other so-called enhanced individuals first chance I get.”

“So the first thing you do is call me – another enhanced individual.” Rhodey's tone was so dry, Tony was pretty sure his potted plants were in danger of expiring. “Granted, I don't feel all that enhanced these days, but Tony... really?”

Tony glared at him. It was a futile effort, he knew. Ever since their college days, the man in front of him had been utterly impervious to his attempts at deflection. “You and I are both in compliance with the Accords. Our contact is authorized and all that.” He waved a hand haphazardly. “I was only half kidding about adult supervision, you know.”

Rhodey stared at him for a long time. Or at least it felt like a long time. Tony managed to not fidget by focusing on how his foot still didn't feel entirely right. He didn't want to know what the other man was thinking. Or he did, but didn't. Dammit, he wished Rhodey would say something. He did not handle quiet very well at all. Quiet was too noisy.

“Do you really have Friday witholding information?”

If he said no, he'd be lying. If he said yes, he'd be admitting just how much he didn't trust himself. It was Rhodey, there'd be no harm in admitting it. He already knew what had happened in Siberia, what he'd done, how he'd messed everything up. He looked helplessly at his friend. “I told her to keep looking for additional intel – including sources beyond the Accords Council – and to not say anything before you were here.”

“Tony... damn...”

He held a hand up. “Please don't. I know. Fri? Have you found anything?”

“I have, boss.” The screens along one wall flickered to life. “Two nations appear to be involved in the negotiations; Denmark and the UK.” One screen showed a split map of the two countries, all known military bases marked.

“Hmmm, that's good,” Rhodey mused, “both have been solid allies in Iraq and Afghanistan. I have contacts.”

“No identity yet?” Tony asked of the AI.

“Nothing solid, though combat engineer is definitely confirmed, and I have indications pointing towards some R&D activity, though exactly what it might entail is still a mystery, boss.”

“R&D in weapons doesn't earn you 'enhanced' status with the Accords,” Rhodey pointed out with a glance at Tony, “unless you personalize them, or you are the one person with access to something unique.”

Tony for his part could only nod. “Like most of us. You and me, Wilson, Barton. And Vanko would have qualified as well. It tells us nothing.”

“Boss, there's something else that concerns me,” Friday interrupted their exchange.

“What is it?”

“I'm not the only one searching for more intel.”

Rhodey laughed lightly. “That's hardly surprising. Another super-something comes out of the woodwork, everyone's gonna be curious.”

“Very true, Colones Rhodes, but some of these searches started at approximately the same time mine did. It's unlikely for normal superhero fans to be monitoring the Accords Council servers as closely as I've been. Not to mention unlikely for them to have the means to do so.”

“Dammit!” Tony exclaimed. “Nice catch, Friday.”

“Thanks, boss. What do you want me to do?”

“Keep monitoring everything that comes out of the negotiations, let us know as soon as you have something. Anything. And keep scouring for anything that might gets us ahead in terms of identifying this individual. If you can identify who else is trying to find them, that would be great as well. I'd like to know if we're racing against other friendly individuals and allies or whether we need to be prepared to send back-up.”

“Is that all, boss?”

Rhodey laughed next to him. “Is it just me or did your AI just get sassy with you?”

“'Course she did, Rhodey. She's **my** brainchild. Anything less than sassy would have been inappropriate.”

That made his companion laugh even harder. “Of course, of course.” Mere seconds later he was serious again and sent Tony a dark look. “You're right about the potential need for back-up, though. I should call my friend in the Danish DoD.”

Tony was surprised. “Why the Danish one? Why not the Brits? Bigger country, better chances at hitting intel paydirt.”

Rhodey shook his head at him. “Simple. If this was a UK thing, Denmark wouldn't be involved. Denmark is a tiny country with very few military ressources, they make barely any of their hardware themselves and buy from us instead. They're not comparable to the UK and definitely not to the US. If Denmark is involved in negotiations, it's because they're central to them, and the UK is there to back them up. No, trust me, this is centered in Denmark. It has to be.”

That just raised more questions. “So, if Denmark is so insignificant military-wise, what can they possibly have?”

Rhodey's grin broadened. “People, Tony. They are well aware they can't excel in quantity, so they focus on quality instead. They have some of the most impressive special forces I have ever worked with. They easily rank up there with our Rangers and Seals and the British SAS.”

Tony had to swallow a gulp. The last special forces types he were in touch with were Cap and Barnes; the last of the much idolized Howling Commandos. And then of course the silently executed death squad in Siberia. According to Barnes the world was better off without them. He wasn't sure if Nat's training – what he knew of it – counted, but they were all some seriously scary people. “Why don't we hear about them, then?”

Rhodey shot him a look. “That's part of the point, Tony.” Oh, right. Obviously. Shit.

“Damn. I was all hopeful about the engineer part. 'M not sure I like the idea of more super soldiers.”

His friend grinned and just took out his phone. “Gimme a sec.”

* * * * *

In the end it was the information that others were keeping tabs on negotiations and searching for the individual in question that got them access to the Danish Minister of Defense. She turned out to be one hell of a persuasive woman, refusing to continue any negotiations with the Accords council, until they could ensure the safety of her people. She wasn't going to sign over authority over any of her personnel unless she felt confident the Council would protect them with the same loyalty they expected from the people in their service.

Tony and Rhodey had been on the phone with her while she verbally handed the council their collective asses. They'd shared a look and Rhodey had remarked quietly: “Didn't know Pepper had a sister in Denmark.”

Mere minutes later the Council had sent the two of them an official request to attend negotiations with the subsidiary mission to survey the situation and be prepared to head off to protect the newest signee if necessary.

They took off for Europe immediately.

 


	3. Chapter 3

General Ross was calling, and Tony did not need to deal with that shrivelled-up lizard of a man. He had met actual lizards with more warmth in their hearts than that man.

He had finally managed to gather enough grit to start going through the Hydra files they confiscated from Siberia. That was last week. It had taken him less than an hour to regret having had breakfast that day. After that he'd done his daily perusal of the files in the mornings running only on coffee. He couldn't muster much appetite for lunch, but it was still better than throwing up his breakfast, which wasn't conducive to his appetite either.

With some luck, he'd also be able to put it out of mind sufficiently to sleep at night. Some days, anyway. He didn't do a lot of sleeping all in all.

Rhodey was on his case about it constantly. Pepper still kept her distance, and his old buddy was trying to pick up the slack, but between his physio and his double-jobbing as air force colonel and War Machine he didn't have all that much time to play nanny other than over the phone. And words had never really been enough to make Tony do much of anything.

Ross called again. Tony proceeded to ignore him.

He had finally managed to perfect the braces for Rhodey. His friend was walking again unhindered. The turning point had been finally having someone to bounce ideas off of. He hadn't truly understood how much he missed Banner, before someone else had stepped into his lab – and him into hers – and started bringing out the best of his inventiveness again.

And he hadn't made a new Ultron-mistake. Yet. He was fairly certain his new lab sparring partner was sufficiently unimpressed with such things to not let him run off with the truly bad ideas. Too bad she couldn't be around all the time.

But Rhodey was walking again, and that made him all kinds of pleased. A small step on a road to redemption. Now all that was missing was finding a way to make the braces unnecessary. Unfortunately, the neurosurgeon he'd contacted months ago, had had an accident, was out of the business and had since gone completely off grid. Could not even be contacted for consultation. Oh well. Other options would exist. He just needed to find them.

Ross again. Damn that old codger. Could the man not just leave him alone to pour over creepy files full of torture and conditioning? Apparently not.

“Boss, General Ross has left a message for you,” Friday informed him.

“Thanks, Friday, summarize it for me?”

“Not much to work with, boss, but it sounded urgent.”

Tony laughed slightly. “Friday, sweetheart, with General Ross getting others to do his bidding is always urgent.”

“Not that kind of urgent, boss. I believe he sounded worried.”

That got his attention. “Worried? What would have Ross worried?”

“I cannot say, boss. But I'm sure he'll tell you if you pick up your phone.”

He snorted. “Thank you, Fri. Very helpful.”

“Anytime, boss.” Once in a while he regretted having made a sassy AI. He groaned, feeling sorry for himself.

“Boss, the general is calling again.”

Tony gave up. “All right, all right. Put him through.” He closed the Winter Soldier folder he'd been working his way through. Might as well head to the kitchen for something to eat, while Ross would be blathering in his ear.

“Stark, finally,” Ross opened, clearly confident that he'd need no introduction.

“Yeah, yeah, I was neck deep in research. What did you say to my assistant to make her disturb me?” He breezed nonchalantly while making his way through the compound.

“Stark, it's serious. I have someone here who need your expertise.”

“Oh please, Ross, do you have any idea how many people in this world feel the need to consult me on-”

“He may not have much time, Stark. So cut the crap.”

That brought Tony to a halt in the middle of one of the glass gangways. “Ross, if he's in medical distress, I'm not the one you need to call.”

“No, it is exactly you I need to call. My only other option would be calling Hydra, and as much as I dislike having to deal with you, I dislike them even more.” He was fairly sure that if Ross sneered any worse, Tony's ear would wither and fall off. At least they still agreed that Hydra was the enemy. After hearing Steve, Sam and Nat's reports on Project Insight he had gotten into the habit of not even taking that for granted.

“Hydra... Ross, I have so many questions now.” He did set off at a jog towards the kitchen, though. It sounded like a meal would be a prudent precaution to check off the list. And soon at that.

“Of course you do, but I'll answer none over the phone.” Tony had guessed as much. “Bring what you need for tech diagnostics, possibly repairs, though I'm not under any illusion that anyone can solve this problem in a day. Not even you.”

“Ross. I really dislike working with you as well. Especially when you're not telling me anything. If someone's life is in danger, don't you think you should be telling me, where I need to show up, so I can be on my way?”

The frustrated snort on the other end was totally worth it. “The Raft, Stark. I'll need you on The Raft, asap. I'll send you the coordinates. Let me know when you'll arrive and we'll be ready for you.”

“Can you at least tell me the general theme of what I'll be working on? It'll give me time to prepare.”

The sigh on the other end was deep. Clearly there was some conflict here. “Tech body modifications.”

Tony froze. Had they caught the Winter Soldier? Why didn't he know about it? The last reports on the whereabouts of Steve and Sam had been somewhere on the Indian sub-continent; he hadn't bothered to memorize the exact location. No, it couldn't be Barnes. Then he would have heard about the re-capture of all of them.

“I'm sending the coordinates now.”

Friday let him know she'd received them. Absentmindedly Tony nodded, forgetting that Ross couldn't see it.

“Stark?”

“Yeah. I'll let you know as soon as I'm off the ground with an ETA. Still need a 30-minute heads-up to open the hatches?”

“Just get me that ETA, when you have it. We'll be ready for you,” Ross snapped.

* * * * *

He took a quinjet. Depending on the state of the prisoner's bodily health they might need a med evac. Not that Ross would ever allow it, but if someone's life needed saving – even a prisoner's – he would browbeat his way to the quinjet and a medical facility with a gurney if he had to. Hopefully any medical staff on The Raft would have sufficiently strong ethics and spines to support him should it come to that.

True to his word Ross had The Raft floating on the gently rolling seas, looking deceptively peaceful considering the urgency. The man himself was standing behind one of the observation windows watching Tony set the quinjet down in the hangar silo with the landing pad. The topside bulkhead gates closed above him, shutting out the soft daylight and bathing the bay in bright flourescent lights.

Tony grabbed what he thought he might need and walked out on the deck. Last time he'd been here had been very different, the urgency quite another. This was a lot less personal, but already it felt a great deal riskier.

Another set of bulkhead doors opened and Ross strode towards him. “Stark. Faster than I expected.”

He wouldn't rise to the bait. If someone's life was at stake he wanted to stay focused. “I aim to surprise, general.”

“Hmmpf. Follow me.”

Tony followed Ross into a part of The Raft he hadn't seen before. Of course. His last visit hadn't been with anyone who'd needed to be in the med bay. Barnes, the Soldier, hadn't looked too good, when he'd last seen him months ago in Siberia, but he couldn't imagine a problem showing up after that much time. But who else...?

“In here.” Ross gestured for Tony to join him in what turned out to be an observation room. The window was covered by curtains from the other side.

“I assume I don't need to explain the confidentiality of this?” Ross looked like he'd smelled something truly rank.

“'Course not,” Tony assured him. “Any individual needing this place to hold them is not someone we want to announce to the world. Believe me, I'm well aware, who'll be sent after them if trouble arises.” He cocked an eyebrow at the general, who just huffed dismissively.

“It's a defector. Former Hydra. He has provided us with valuable intel.”

“Then why is he still out here and not in protective custody somewhere?”

“It's complicated, Stark. I don't need you to worry about it. What I need you for is what's currently killing him.” The general tapped three times on the window.

The curtains were pulled away by a young man wearing scrubs. Behind him a woman, also in scrubs, stood leaning over a hospital bed. Tony's heart sank. Shit.

A slight man lay on the white sheets. Deathly pale. IV drips were attached in... unconventional places. Torso, neck. All of the man's four limbs were bionic, and judging from their attachment points his body was not liking them much.

Shit.

At least it wasn't Barnes. Small blessings. He wished Banner was here.

He exhaled slowly through pursed lips. “I see.”

“Yeah,” the general said next to him. “He's a mess. The docs tell me the implants are killing him. I'm hoping you can help with that.”

“Why not just remove them?” Tony asked. “Get rid of them, stop the problem, and then look into replacements later?”

Ross chuckled. “I asked the same question. They tell me it's not so simple as that.”

“Huh, is it ever...” Tony mused. “Am I cleared to go in there? Or does the doc need to brief me first?”

The general tapped the window again and the doctor, the woman who'd been bent over the sick man, came to the window. Clearly she expected his arrival. The look of relief on her face was telling. She waved him inside and the general indicated the door across the one they'd entered through. Tony was very pleased to note the old man didn't follow him through the door.

* * * * *

“Doctor Caldwell, that is enough!”

Next to Tony the doctor in question snapped her mouth shut and fumed on in silence. If her hair hadn't already been curly, he was pretty sure it would have curled from the heat of her rage. The brown eyes that had been soft and compassionate, when looking at their patient, were now hard as flint. If that glare could be weaponised, she'd be the deadliest woman in history.

Ross for his part managed to look even more annoyed than normally. “I can't just call in random people to this place just to **maybe** save someone.”

“If you'd called Mr. Stark in a month or two ago like I requested, we might not have to make a rush job of it. If he is to have a chance, even a small one, he needs the appropriate experts, and he needs them yesterday.” Her arms were crossed over her chest, her back straight, one foot furiously tapping the floor. Though her plump figure might have led anyone to believe she was a soft woman, right now Tony was extremely pleased he was not on the receiving end of her wrath. If ever Pepper and Dr. Caldwell ended up in a harsh disagreement, he'd want to be on the other side of the globe.

Ross wasn't so lucky. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, you've made that very clear, Dr. Caldwell. Thank you. Stark, nothing you can do, really?”

Tony shrugged. “Sure, I could probably build new non-deadly implants for the guy. But I've never done anything like that before, so I'll have to invent everything from scratch, and he doesn't have that kind of time according Dr. Caldwell. She's the medical expert here.”

“Damn.” Ross sat down in his chair. “He's been so cooperative. Very helpful.”

Caldwell sniffed disdainfully. “And now you stand to lose your precious source of intel. That's a human being in there, Ross. His current state is a direct result of you not listening to my advice sooner.”

Tony placed a hand on the angry doctor's arm. “There may be another way to keep things confidential.”

Ross looked up at him skeptically. “I can't involve an entire new staff of... everything.”

“I know,” Tony placated, “but hear me out. The legality of it ensures the confidentiality, but I'll have to do some persuading of the right people. I think I can.” He cast a sidelong glance at Caldwell and then added: “The ethics of it, though, might be questionable.”

She frowned. “Worse than they already are? I don't like the sound of that.”

Ross leaned forward eyes narrowing dangerously. “What are you saying?”

“I know someone. I don't know if they could do it in time. But they have a better chance than I do, since they've done it before.” He tried to be vague. Didn't want to reveal too much.

“And why would they not be a security risk?” Ross was sounding outright suspicious now.

“Well... they operate under the Sokovia Accords; a signee and their team. They will definitely understand the need for secrecy. And they can be trusted – Accords signee and all that. I've done some work with them before.”

Ross' eyes remained narrowed, but curiosity tinged his tone, when he asked, “field work?”

“No. Lab work. Tech,” Tony corrected him. “And we won't have to bring them here. I've seen their labs and workshops. If we bring Megatron and Caldwell's medical team with us, we won't need to bring in anyone else.”

“But... that will leave The Raft with no medical oversight in the meantime,” the doctor pointed out.

“I know,” Tony acknowledged. “That's one ethical problem. But what are the chances anything more severe than a sniffle or a head ache will happen here in the next 48 hours?”

She huffed, but didn't argue that point. “And the other ethical problems?” She asked instead.

“There are still no guarantees. This team I'm suggesting for the job – none of them are actual medical doctors. Your team will be the only ones, doc. And it's still very much experimental tech as far as I know.”

“So we'll be down a medical team, and a number of guards,” Ross mused, his frown having become one of opportunism.

“Uhhh about that,” Tony interjected. “We can't bring any military personnel.”

That brought the angry frown back. “Unacceptable!”

“Then we can't do this on such short notice,” Tony concluded and deliberately turned to leave. “I'll be on my way then.”

“Hold up, Stark! Why is this impossible?”

This was it. He needed to choose his words carefully. The exact right amount of truth and they could leave without Ross even considering coming with. “Because we'll be visiting a military base in another country. As a signee of the Accords I have already made sure I have clearance to visit this particular other signee of the Accords. But I am not cleared to bring military personnel with me. That would be a serious breach of the other nation's territorial sovereignty. Civilians can visit as they please with permission from the base commander, but foreign military? Nah.”

“Foreign military, you say...?”

“Yep. So basically, you just need to release the prisoner into my custody for a given period. In co-operation with the other Accords signee I will take on this responsibility. And since they have access to military personnel where they are, guard duty will be easily handled on site.”

“And you think this will give him a chance? Doctor Caldwell?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “How on god's green earth am I supposed to say, when I don't even know what this individual can supposedly do? I **can** say that I'll do everything in my power to help him, if you send my team along, sir. My doctor's oath would allow me nothing less.”

Tony just nodded his assent. “Like I said, Ross. No guarantees. Time is our enemy right now. He may not survive, but we can try to give him a fighting chance.”

Ross glared silently at the both of them in turn as if trying to discern the future from somewhere inside them. He had a sudden visual of the esteemed general practicing divination hunched over the entrails of a dead... something.

“Do it. I'll draw up temporary release and custody papers. You get in touch with this freak-friend of yours. And make sure this is actually within Accords regulations.”

Tony smirked, knowing full well there'd be no problem if no one knew of anything happening. “I'll have Rhodes double check if I've forgotten something, but I do have things in order from my last visit.”

“Good. Good. Get it done. Dismissed.” Ross waved them off and turned to his computer.

Outside the door of the office Dr. Caldwell turned to him. “Mr. Stark. How do we handle transportation? He's not strong enough to walk.” Her brown eyes, now once again compassionate were widened with concern, making the sclera a distinct contrast to her dark skin.

Another smirk – this time less arrogant and more on-top-of-things-like: “You didn't see what I arrived in. I anticipated this, doc. Come on.” He gestured for her to follow. “Let me show you what you and your team will be setting up in.”

She grabbed her comm. “Michaels, start prepping our patient for transport. I'll be down soon.” Then she followed Tony to the hangar silo.

He was almost disappointed with her lack of awe at seeing the quinjet, but after having spent a couple of hours with her going over their patient, he was expecting it. It might be tech most people would never get within viewing distance of, but this woman was a pro. She had eyes only for where the gurney would be, how it would be secured, how many power outlets for life support and monitoring equipment she would have access to, and whether her team would be able to work en route should the need arise.

Before they left the quinjet again she stopped him with a hand on his left arm. It jolted him. She saw it and turned concerned eyes on him. “Are you alright, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony,” he prompted. “And yep. My docs assure me I'm fine. Just have some psycho-somatic leftovers from old injuries.”

That didn't dispell her worry, he could tell.

“Really, doc. I'm fine. Guy down there's far worse off.”

She nodded, clearly not convinced, but accepting of his boundary. “You think your friend can help him?”

He spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “I don't know. But it's the only thing I can think of. You go get him prepped. I have some suddenly very urgent calls I need to make. Meet back here.”

“Gotcha.” With that she turned and walked briskly down the ramp and to the doors leading back into the facility. He chose to handle the calls from the privacy of the quinjet under Friday's secure encryption protocols.

* * * * *

As soon as they were en route they had sent everything they had in terms of scans, bloodwork, tox-screens you name it. Even mapping out the poor man's DNA was relevant to the biochemist on the waiting team. He really wished Bruce were here.

Unlike what he'd told Ross, he hadn't actually met the entire team, but he trusted the woman, and if she trusted her team then so would he. Not that he was feeling it, right at this very moment. He still had a hard time trusting even people he knew. Steve and Nat's lie by omission still stung really bad. Today, though, things weren't about him; they were about some poor, abused ex-Hydra agent – guinea pig more like, when he really thought about it – so if they turned out to be less competent than he expected, it wasn't his ass on the line. The only thing he had personal responsibility for was making sure the man didn't escape. Like a bedridden, dying mad were a flight risk. Ross' paranoia was really impressive at times, and coming from one Tony Stark that was saying something. He noticed the cautious footsteps approaching him in the pilot's seat.

“Mr. Stark, we've just received word of things we can do to prep further. I need you back there if possible,” Dr. Caldwell spoke from behind him.

He swivelled around to look at her. She handed him a tablet. Taking a quick glance at it, he whistled. “She wants us to disable them. That's gonna be unpleasant for him.” He looked up. “And it's still Tony.”

She shook her head slightly, and he couldn't tell whether she was refusing to call him by his first name, or whether she just thought him silly. Or both. Both was definitely an option. “We can sedate him, but she has also directed us to not put him under general aneasthesia. Disabling his bionic limbs will be extremely painful for him far as I can tell. The stress it will put on his nervous system might kill him all on its own.”

He flipped to the preceding page. He had not expected to wish he had more knowledge of medical technology so soon again, but there he was, a couple of PhDs short of what he needed at the moment. “What are you asking me to do, doc?”

“I don't know, honestly. Sedatives seem necessary, but you know your way around the tech far better than any of us. Can you take a look and see if you can find a way to disable them that won't potentially send him into shock?”

Now that was a wonderfully precise request. He liked this woman more and more by the minute. “Friday, take the wheel, and let me as well as Riggs know, when we're 10 minutes out.”

“Yes boss.”

Dr. Caldwell looked around with a raised eyebrow. “What's that? Autopilot?”

“Oh, Friday is much more than that,” he said proudly, deciding to crumple up his paranoia and throw it into a corner for the moment. “Introduce yourself to the good doctor, babygirl.”

“Well met, Doctor Caldwell,” Friday's voice sounded over the speakers. “I am Friday, Mr. Stark's, real speech user interface for all automated systems in his personal and professional suites. If you need to use a computer, make a call, or order food you can ask me to do it for you and not have to interrupt your work.”

Tony pretended he didn't see the doctor's awed expression, but he might have been preening just a little bit. It wasn't often he actually had the chance to impress people these days. No time to worry about missing it, though. Instead he made his way to the gurney and opened up the plates of a bionic leg to see if he could do what she asked of him. He had a few hours to figure it out.

He ended up having to call Rigger anyway, letting her know that it was very much against doctor's orders to disable the limbs. Losing the patient before they even arrived and had made a real attempt at helping him was an unacceptable outcome, they all agreed.

Opening up the maintenance access panels of the limb he began to take out any motors that were in his way. Poor guy barely had the strength to move anyway, not being able to move his leg at all wouldn't make much of a difference. He didn't touch any of the electrical connections for neural feedback. “Just get me in there, Tony,” Riggs asked through Friday's speakers.

Having snaked the cam between the remaining motors to get a view of the neural connections, he could finally give her the view she asked for. “Fucking hell. How in the bleeding Christ did those prize fucksticks expect this sod to survive deep-fried shit like that for longer than a measly bloody year or two at the most?”

Tony looked around at the medics. He hadn't thought to warn them about the language, but only one had blushed slightly. The rest were either indifferent or were sniggering. Right, they did work in a super max facility; they'd probably heard their fair share of bad language. His thoughts suddenly drifted to Steve and how they'd all ribbed him mercilessly for his “Language!”-admonishments. Not a thought for now. Idly he pondered whether Barnes' bionic arm had been like this. The designs of some of the plates did seem somewhat similar. No, no, even less of a thought for now.

“Any suggestions how I go about figuratively ripping his leg off without making it feel like I'm ripping his leg off?” He asked instead. Stay focused on the task.

“Map all the connections for me?”

“Yes, ma'am. Friday, build a virtual construct of the limb as we go. Just add to what we have from the med bay earlier. And send live updates to Riggs.”

“Yes, boss.”

He carefully passed the camera through the inside of the leg, making sure to get everything documented. It took longer than he had hoped, but she stopped him before he was through.

“Tony, you can stop now. I think I've got what I need. Friday, please show him the holo and light up my manipulations of it.”

“Got it, Sergeant.”

“Doc? You watching this as well? We'll need your opinion on whether this is something our patient can tolerate.”

Caldwell immediately came round to stand at Tony's side. “I'm not sure what I'm looking at to be honest.”

“No worries, doc,” Riggs' disembodied voice assured her. “Tony, see these?” A bundle of four connections lit up red in the blue. “These are the neural feedback connections from the pressure sensors in his forefoot – or the equivalent of it.”

Tony immediately saw where she was going. “You want to disconnect feedback connections starting from the toes and moving up towards the body...”

“Exactly,” Riggs confirmed. “Now, doc, without genereal anaesthesia the only other options would be local, which is pointless since we're working with manipulation of neural pathways rather than sensory perception, or an epidural while I have Tony disconnect feedback connectors for both legs.”

Caldwell pondered it only briefly. “Do you have any idea what the experience his brain will be processing will be the equivalent of?”

“Can't say for sure,” Riggs sounded apologetic, “but assuming the experience will be similar to my only other case of cybernetic limb removal, we're talking about feeling like something removed a part of you in one quick chop. There shouldn't any real pain outside of phantom pain. My suggestion right now is to do smaller parts at a time, so as to lessen the risk of total system shock and the levels of phantom pain his brain might generate for him. Will an epidural work for this, you think? Trick his brain into thinking it's not serious?”

“It might. Do I even want to know how your other case worked out?” Caldwell sounded extremely apprehensive, Tony thought with a smile.

“It went quite well, doc, but the patient was in good health and fully aware of what was going on, which goes a long way in pain management.”

Tony saw Caldwell's shoulders lower an inch or two. He smirked at her and leaned in to whisper: “Told you she was good.” All he got in reply was a sardonically raised eyebrow.

Directed at her team she started giving orders. “Prep for an epidural. Michaels, I want you to keep track of ox saturation. With so little body left even the smallest deviations might need intervention. Alvarez, do I remember correctly that you can do guided meditations?”

A tall latina nodded curtly.

“You will sit at his head, and guide him through this. Keep him breathing calmly, and we might not need to intubate at all.” She turned to him next. “Mr. Sta- Tony, I am not a surgeon and we do not have a surgical suite. If something happens that requires major surgical intervention...”

“We're several hours from the nearest hospital, doc. What you see here is what we've got.” That was all he had for her. Robots were much easier. Nothing had changed his opinion on that yet.

“Doc?” Riggs asked from thin air.

“Yes?” Caldwell did not stop her prep work.

“This is going to drag out the trauma to his body – the experience of losing pieces of himself. It will be lesser traumas, but there will be more of them in a row. It will be up to you and your team to determine how fast we can go, pace him. Right now we are not in a massive time crunch, so prioritize his stability above all else and give him all the breaks he'll need for you to keep him lucid. Neither I nor Tony can consult on this, so it will be solely your call. We will not argue.”

“Good. Thank you, Sergeant. Nice with a clear-cut chain of command.”

“Thought you might appreciate it. Tony, let's not disturb the doc, while I show you what I have in mind.”

He withdrew a few paces from the medic team. Rigger didn't need to say much, as she remotely manipulated the hologram to show him the appropriate order in which he should disconnect the limb. Appropriate. There was nothing appropriate about any of this. They had to settle for least potentially damaging.

And he still had a hard time not thinking about Barnes, wondering how the now one-armed man was doing. He shook his head. It was not the time to think about his parents' murderer. He was about to assist in taking a man apart piece by piece, alive no less, because someone else had done more or less that to him and fucked it up. Of all the things Tony had never thought he'd do... he suddenly also had a hard time not thinking of Obie pulling the arc reactor out of his chest.

The electronics made sense to him, but the method Riggs instructed him to use to first manipulate the connections to fake a specific sensory input only to then shut it off and disconnect it, though... he wasn't sure he saw the point of that. She was the one who'd done it before and had apparently tried several methods. If this was the one she said was easiest for the patient to get through, he would simply have to believe her. Here's with the trust again. Everything she told him, he committed to memory. Depending fully on how Caldwell decided things could be paced, he would not want to have to check back with the hologram.

“Tony?”

He looked up to see the doctor looking expectantly at him. “We're ready to get started. As ready as we can get.” Her misgivings were painted clearly in her deep frown and tightly clenched jaw.

He nodded, grabbed the necessary tools, and joined them around the gurney.

Getting started was the easy part, and it seemed to be going well for about an hour, when they had moved just above the ankle. The man began panicking. Despite an impressive effort from the calm Alvarez, he started babbling in Russian.

Dr. Caldwell called a halt to any further disconnections for the time being.

“Boss? I've tried to make sense of what he's saying.”

“Go ahead, Friday.”

“He's saying 'not again, please, not again'. I do not know what he's referring to.”

“Well,” Alvarez cut in still sounding calmer than anyone had any right to be right now, “he's not entirely with us right now. Not sure where his head just went, but it's not a good place, that's for sure. And it's beyond what I can talk him through.”

A long string of curses were heard. Then half of a conversation in a language none of them understood – except for the term “ASAP”.

“Doc? What's his status?”

“Physically, he stabilized when we stopped the procedure. Mentally... well, you heard...” Caldwell answered her.

“Let's just say even I can smell the cold sweat here,” Tony added. “Wait...” If it was all about the signals sent to the brain through the nervous system, original or artificial, then if he could write a program to send the necessary signals through those connections, he might be able to make the man's brain think his limbs just fell asleep. “Friday, do you have an estimate of the bandwidth of those neural feedback connections?”

“Yes, boss, specs are on your pad.”

He looked at it. Tiny. It would explain the narrow range of feedback they'd had to make do with.

“Tony?” Riggs asked him over the speakers. “You're too quiet, you're thinking something. Wanna fill me in?”

“Yeah, just a sec,” he tapped away at the pad and lines of code took shape before him.

“Tony... before you arrive here. Otherwise I can't help you.”

Oh, right. “If I simulate the impulses of a limb that's falling asleep, so his brain thinks the limb is just shutting down on its own without any danger. And then we disconnect after that.”

Silence on the other end. Then Caldwell asked: “Can you actually do that?”

He was about to answer, but Rigger headed him off. “Technically, yes, it's possible. I see two problems. Tony, I bloody well hope you're listening. The first is if the brain thinks the leg is just asleep, your patient's gonna get very antsy with trying to shake some feeling into his limbs. The second is worse. I heard you ask about bandwidth in the wiring. The kind of datapackets you suggest sending through are far bigger than the connections can handle. They're **very** primitive.”

“Not if I'm really smart about it,” he objected.

“Tony. Aside from a relatively early stage rejection syndrom this guy's problem is that any and all activity in the connectors break down the tissue around them. This degradation of tissue is traveling further and further up the nerves. The more traffic, the faster the degradation, the worse the infection and the more pain he is in. Believe me, he is already in a world of pain, and what you're suggesting will send a massive data burst that might actually fry his system just the same as just cutting all connections at once. Not to mention how it may very well fry the nerves we will need to connect new limbs to, you don't want to exacerbate the problem that's currently killing him, right?”

“Okay, listen Sergeant Smartypants, I'm not gonna attempt it until I have working code **and** you have approved it. But right now, I can't do anything else, it seems.”

“Alright, but at least take a look at the software for my... designs. I'll have Emilie send them to you immediately. They're not exactly... simple.”

“I'm just gonna take a look and see if I can make something work with what we've got here. If not, we'll have to wait until we're at yours.”

“And once you're here, you'll have plenty to do. Trust me. I'll keep you busy.”

He groaned. “Why am I not looking forward to that?”

“Now why would I have the answer to that?” He could hear the grin in her voice. “All right, I think we'll leave your patient alone for now, doc. If nothing else we got a decent amount of biometrics out of this. If possible, I'd like more detailed scans of the attachment points at his shoulders, but I'll leave it up to you, whether it's feasible to have him sit up.”

Tony was barely listening when Caldwell and Riggs exchanged a few more opinions on the unfortunate man on the gurney.

“Tony?”

His name pulled him back out of the extremely interesting code Emilie had sent. He grunted in the affirmative.

“When you arrive, screw the runway and set the bird down at my door. I'll light up the pad for you and meet you out front. Rigger out.”

* * * * *

As the elevator took them into the bowels of the bunker Rigger made the necessary introductions, while he immediately zeroed in on the beautiful biochemist, Emilie. He'd met her during his last visit with Rigger. If he never managed to mend things with Pepper, this woman would probably be his primary temptation. Good thing there was an ocean between them, or she might be a reason he couldn't mend things with Pep.

He had no impression of how far below the surface they were, when their descent ended and they hurried along a mezzanine past a bullpit that looked like the command center for something he couldn't discern in passing. Through a door at the opposite side of the round room, he could see a hallway. Everything was concrete and steel and looked older than it should. Out in the hallway, they turned through the first door or the right, and then they were standing in a combined surgery suite and tech workshop. A man about his own age turned to nod to them as they entered and then turned back to whatever he was tinkering with.

First things first. They moved their patient to the table in the centre of the room, hooked him up to the monitoring equipment connected to the local systems. Tony almost had a small techgasm as everything lit up with datafeeds.

“Alright, people!” Riggs clapped her hands, “everybody listen up. Strategy huddle. Liz, you with me? Where are you?”

A deep female voice answered over the speaker system: “30 minutes out. I'm listening.”

“Good. Our patient is Aleksey Demidov, aged 46. All four limbs amputated an undisclosed number of years ago and replaced with cybernetic enhancements. He suffers mild rejection syndrome, which could probably have been managed medicinally if not for the fact that the attachment points for neural feedback have been patched together so crudely that every time he has ever used those limbs of his, it has fried his nerves and the tissues around them just a little. Essentially, what we're looking at is a severe, potentially terminal case of breakdown of glial cells and axons and therefore a localized inflammatory demyelination with resulting perineural fibrosis caused by the implants being extremely poorly adjusted to his body's chemistry as well as working at a wrong voltage/current setting.”

She looked around to see if everyone was still following. Dr. Caldwell nodded approvingly, and the rest of her medical team was evidently up to speed on all the medical lingo. Tony only got the parts that involved electricity. That was something he knew what to do with. The bio-stuff... well, biological weapons had never been part of his portfolio. There were medical and bio-pros in the room, he'd just have to take their word for what things were.

“On top of this, the inflammation has caused infection and the beginnings of sepsis, which is why we're racing against the clock here. As long as we haven't removed the source, we can keep flooding his system with antibiotics to no avail.” Okay, infection and sepsis, he understood. Had even had close personal experiences with them that he would rather forget.

The poor man on the operating table showed no change at this statement. Tony surmised he already knew what the prognosis was. Not good.

“The plan in bullet points is:” She held up her index finger. “Fix his legs first. They're easier. Emilie and Tony are devising a way to cut the connections, without too much additional stress to his system. The two of them will be in charge of that. Caldwell's team will cap off the ends and leave them unrepaired for now.”

She added the middle finger. “Then some downtime to stabilise and strengthen him, before we move on to his arms. He'll need that.”

Her ring finger joined the first two. “We've got two simultaneous points next, the first of which is Emilie and I will rely on Caldwell and her team to go in surgically and create the new neural connections needed. That way – instead of severing any connections as in his legs and risk additional trauma – we will attempt a soft-replacement with direct transition to the new limbs. I have never done this before, but we have studied the scans you sent us, and we're confident it can be done with minimal risk of system shock.”

Then the little finger was added. “Lars and I have been working on this immediate replacement that will require a completely different attachment method. For safety and agency reasons, we didn't want to deprive him of all his limbs in one fell swoop, but we also don't want to attach a new implant to connective tissues that will most likely need several days to heal – in the best of cases, weeks would be a better estimate – so we came up with an alternative. It's a little clunky at the moment, I'm hoping Tony can help us shave it down some. Getting this done is the fourth bullet point.”

Ah, Lars would be the man that had nodded to them. Beard as sharply trimmed as Tony's own, only fuller. He met the man's eyes and received another calm nod. This one slightly deeper – not just a greeting. He nodded back, it was hurried, focused but enthusiastic. He was not really sure, whether he was more enthused about working on new tech or with a new engineer – someone who was clearly approved by Rigger, whom he had already found he enjoyed working with.

“If we can manage these things, we've handled all the immediate dangers. Anything after this we can handle at a more leisurely pace.”

“One thing,” Caldwell interjected. “As long as Alvarez is busy keeping him calm, I'm down two hands, and we're already a small team for this sort of thing. Not to mention we're not a trained OR team.”

“I know,” Rigger acknowledged with an apologetic smile. “I'm not a surgeon either. I'm not even a doctor. And yet I've managed surgery more or less like the one required on his legs. All on my own, no assistance. It wasn't pretty, I admit, but it was an emergency and turned out well enough in the end. Actually having a team of real doctors and nurses – even if you're not OR trained – is a massive step up. I'm confident we can do this.”

Caldwell shook her head. “On one hand I wanna know about your experience, because you keep saying it ended well. On the other, I don't think I wanna know what kind of emergency **that** might have been.”

Their host answered with a grin. “Tell you what. Let's get through this, and then you can decide whether your curiosity wins out over your apprehension. As for Alvarez. That's the reason I called in Liz. She speaks fluent Russian, so even if Aleksey here gets so mixed up that he forgets all but his native tongue, we'll still have a line of communication. And you can use your team for their actual jobs.” Rigger answered the doctor with a wink.

Caldwell crossed her arms. “And this Liz, I take it she can be trusted as well.”

Tony observed Rigger closely, expecting her to take offense, but instead she looked approvingly at the doctor. “Of course. She works here on my team. Same security clearance as myself. She tests nearly all my tech. And she should be here any minute now. Liz?”

“In the elevator. Nice bird outside. Stark's?”

Tony grinned at the thought of a highly trusted tech tester. Maybe it was a luxury, but where's the fun in not testing your own tech? This team was so different from anything he'd ever had. “Mine,” he confirmed for the voice in the speakers. “I'm sure we can arrange for a test flight after all this.” He didn't know whether he was hoping for someone as attractive as Emilie or whether that would actually be too much distraction.

“Count me in,” came the enthusiastic reply. They heard the thump of boots echoing in the hallway. And through the door stepped someone Tony could best describe as a female version of Captain America, except about a foot shorter. The way she held herself alone was enough. Add to that. sharp cheek bones revealing the face of someone with not an excess ounce of body fat, broad-shouldered, white-blonde hair so short he guessed she had previously been shaved bare like Rigger, and if not for the bright smile and intelligent eyes, she could have been straight out of some Soviet Olympics team. He took in the military boots, camo fatigues, and grey standard issue sweatshirt. Scratch that – could be straight out of a Soviet Military Experiment. Like the man they were about to take apart. Like Barnes. Shit. He thought he'd managed to put those thoughts rest. Start over. No, the bright eyes made her more like an American Military Experiment like Steve. Dammit. Why did he have to make it so hard for himself?

“So, I've been listening to your discussion – way above my paygrade most of it. I know what I'm doing. Am I beside him, or by his head? Least in the way, I mean.” She was already moving to the operating table. Aleksey Demidov, though clearly exhausted and in pain, turned his head to look at her.

“Well,” Caldwell decided to advise her, “he won't be able to feel you holding his hand anyway, so how about you sit by his head?”

Liz glanced briefly at the doctor, who clearly had not warmed up to her yet, and nodded. “Of course. Makes sense.” She stood next to him and gently placed a hand on his sternum. “Hi, Aliosha. I'm Liz.” The man's eyes widened in surprise at the familiar version of his name and then he smiled. Tony was not entirely sure what the significance of that had been, but clearly this Liz had been a good choice. “I'll just grab a seat and then you have me all to yourself, while all these boring geniuses do their thing, all right?” Ah, yeah, that he understood; establishing an alliance against that which frightened the man. For a moment Tony wondered why seemingly only women learned such approaches to other people, when they were obviously so useful. Brilliant. Now he was missing Natasha as well as Pepper. Again.

He strode to where Lars stood by a work table. He really needed to start working, and he wanted a look at the progress so far, before he would rejoin Emilie on the disconnection-crew. He offered a hand to the dark-haired man, who, like Emilie and unlike Liz and Rigger, was definitely not military. They shook and exchanged a few comments about the situation. Taciturn but obviously intelligent and as per the situation fully prepared to bounce ideas off of even a new-comer in his workshop, Lars served as yet another reminder of what Tony had lost in the last couple of years. His science buddy and his family. And though Rigger seemed pleased enough to work with him and have him around, she clearly had her own team here. That probably meant he couldn't convince her to come stay in the Avengers Compound.

He sighed and excused himself to go finalize the disconnect-code with Emilie.

* * * * *

Tony fell into a lounge chair. Exhausted did not even begin to cover how he felt. Then he noticed the incredibly soft-looking chaiselongue along the opposite wall. Dammit, he was too beat to move his poor abused cadaver of a body over there. He was too tired to even stare longingly for more than a few seconds.

“Friday, how long have we been at it?”

“37 hours, 26 minutes since you entered the surgery, boss.” She wasn't counting the work they'd done on the quinjet.

The others filed in one by one. Heavy eyelids, hollow looks, tight lips, shaking hands. They were all tired. And shaken. Some of the revelations they'd been privy to, while Liz – sometimes in English, sometimes in Russian – had gently talked Aleksey through the procedures and the flashbacks they had triggered... Tony had no words for it. Hydra had evidently not gotten less creative after turning Barnes into their Winter Soldier.

Distancing himself emotionally by only thinking of him as the man or the patient had become completely impossible after the point, when they finally understood, why Aleksey hadn't been able to deal with losing sensation in a smaller part of him at a time. Tony shuddered, holding his left hand up before his eyes. It shook. It often did, but right now it was worse than it had been since Siberia.

“You wanna talk about it?” Liz was crouching next to his lounge chair, sharp eyes trained on his. No judgment. Understanding. He couldn't hold her gaze and looked back at his twitching fingers. “We can go somewhere more private.”

“What did Terminator tell you?” He felt his lips curl into a half-hearted sneer, as her eyebrows twitched everso slightly.

“Nothing private. I have eyes.” Still that perfectly neutral tone. “And you clearly have more of a heart than you like to pretend.”

He jerked his eyes back to her. Sometime early in their long proces she had shed the sweatshirt to reveal that Captain America body-type he had guessed she possessed. Only female of course. And heavily tattooed. Unlike Steve's. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“No pressure. The offer stands while you're here.”

“You're the resident therapist?” That definitely came out much more snide than he had intended.

She smiled tiredly. “No, but I'm really good at reading people, so I'm usually the one to notice, when someone's falling apart.”

He acknowledged her explanation with a soft grunt. “I get why she called you in. You connected with the poor guy very fast.”

This time her smile was wry. “Rigger hasn't told you anything at all about me, has she?” She pronounced the name differently. As if replacing the g's with k's. It sounded odd in his ears. And her English was absolutely perfect, so he couldn't figure out why she'd... wait... oh... Rigger's real name. Now it made sense. Shit, he was really losing it. Maybe talking to someone might not be such a bad idea. He eyed Liz carefully out of the corner of his eyes while pretending to still study his hand.

“No, she hasn't even mentioned you. You'll have to excuse me for not wanting to spill my heart to a perfect stranger.” Or his guts for that matter.

She laughed. It was a thin, brittle sound, tinged with exhaustion and strain, but there was kindness in it. He didn't hear much of that these days. “Like I said, no pressure. But let me introduce myself, then: Elisabeth Overgaard, Liz for short.” She held out her hand.

He took it, shook it, even managed a mostly genuine smile of his own. “Tony Stark. And after all this, I think it's just Tony.”

“Good to meet you, Tony. I'll leave you to your thoughts now, because if you're not gonna want to talk, I'm gonna go make that offer to Emilie. She's not exactly used to human suffering. Despite knowing Rigger and me.” Liz shook her head fondly and rose to her feet. “Get some sleep, man.”

He nodded absently. He did not even remember lowering his hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What started out with a short post-CA:CW thoughts from Tony turned into a longer proces. Seeing how massive this suddenly became I'm considering going back and expanding the first two chapters. As it is, there's one more installment left of this before parts 2 and 3 of this series will meet in the timeline and I can begin posting part 4, much of which is already written.
> 
> Please do leave a comment and let me know what you think. A bunch of OCs were introduced here, because I needed Tony to associate with and talk to some people, while the Rogues are off in Wakanda. Whether they end up playing a role further on, I don't know yet, though I do have semi-extensive backgrounds on all of them.


	4. Chapter 4

The flip phone beeped with a message. Two messages. Three messages. From a number that wasn't the one Steve had left in it and that he had sent his invitation to.

> Steve's being stubborn. It took him months to pass on your message. You're welcome.
> 
> It's the fucking least I could do. For what it's worth: I'm sorry. For everything.
> 
> This is Barnes.

Tony was surprised. And he wasn't. After Barnes had tackled his bestie and prevented the murder of one Tony Stark, he definitely should have expected Barnes to be the one to reach out. He didn't need to think about it for long or at all before making a decision.

> Cap? Stubborn? Impossible. You sure we're talking about the same man?
> 
> Also – use [this number] instead. But don't give it to anyone else. Not even Rogers

Seconds later a message beeped its arrival to his own phone.

> Got it.

Tony saved the number. This might be an interesting conversation. If Barnes were even interested in one.

> Stark Raving: Does Cap know you contacted me?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: No. I tried to convince him to get in touch. He's convinced you're just gonna attack me again.
> 
> Stark Raving: So how did you get the number?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: I snuck into his room, got the number from the phone and wrote you from my own.
> 
> Stark Raving: Nice work.

A week went by before Tony ran out of patience and wrote Barnes.

> Stark Raving: I take it America's Golden Boy is not about to accept my invitation to come here. What about you? Still following him around? I never see anything about you, when I get intel on his exploits.

He didn't get a response for three days.

> Mr. Freeze: Haven't seen him in just over a week. I'm lying low. Trying to get my head screwed on straight.
> 
> Stark Raving: Good plan, but not alone, I hope. Seems like something you shouldn't be dealing with on your own.
> 
> Mr. Freeze: I have help. Don't know if it's enough. Time will tell.
> 
> Stark Raving: Good. And just so there's no misunderstandings: the invitation for you to come here is not contingent on his acceptance.

Another week passed before Barnes replied.

> Mr. Freeze: Thank you. And sorry. I wasn't sure what to say and then I was prevented.
> 
> Stark Raving: A week is faster than five months.
> 
> Mr. Freeze: Why are you offering amnesty to me? I get it with the others, your friends, but why me? You owe me nothing. Other than a painful demise.
> 
> Stark Raving: Rogers never liked me, but we've worked together well enough. Same goes for Romanoff. If you're really the man Cap says you are, then I can work with you as well, whether or not I like you. We're kinda short-staffed 'round here.
> 
> Mr. Freeze: I gotta think about this.
> 
> Stark Raving: Of course.

It would be another two weeks before Tony heard anything.

* * * * *

What a headache. His last cup of coffee must have been too long ago. Impossible. He inhaled the black gold by the gallon. Nonetheless the pounding behind his eyes felt like caffeine withdrawal. That shouldn't set in until at least two days without. It usually didn't, and Tony couldn't for the life of him imagine a reason to go without more than a few hours, much less days.

He couldn't possibly have slept that long? And forgotten about it? No, he never slept that long. He must be getting old if he had to retrace his steps for banalities like sleep and coffee. What was he thinking? Coffee was not a banality. It was the life giving liquid flowing in his veins. Clearly there was too much blood in his coffee-stream if he could be thinking like that.

A mission to the kitchens was in order. He got up from the stool he'd been slumped on. As he kicked it away to the side, its wheels caught on... what the hell, he'd been working on that. Why was it on the floor? Had he really fallen asleep and dropped it? That was not like him. He would definitely have consumed another mug of liquid wakefulness before anything like that would have happened.

The kitchens it was.

“Friday? Did I actually fall asleep?”

“It would seem so, boss,” she answered him as he closed the door to the workshop behind him.

“Huh. How long was I out?” The lights of the hallway were unbearably bright. And their flickering fluorescence botheres him more than usual. Yeah, the migraine-like headaches that came with caffeine-withdrawal sure were fun. Unless it was a regular migraine. That was a possibility, even though he hadn't had one since he'd had the arc reactor removed from his chest.

“Unclear, boss.”

“Okay, yeah. Falling asleep can be gradual. What **can** you tell me, sweet pea? There are no wrong answers.” Sometimes he forgot how young Friday still was – like a teenager looking for reassurance, validation. She was sharp, of course, with a powerful quantum computer to house her brain that was to be expected, but she'd only been active for a couple of years and had not yet had the time to learn all the intricacies of human communication that not even Jarvis had mastered after so many years of service. She had a good grasp of sarcasm and sass, but she was so very, very young. Like Peter.

“While you were working your vital signs fell into that calm state they often do.”

Tony smiled to himself. Yeah, tinkering was better than sleep. Always had been.

“You slowed down, but you were still active, so I saw no cause for alarm. Merely assumed you had to consider the work more carefully. Was I wrong? Should I have called your attention to it?”

“Nothing to worry about, Friday. Tinkering is meditative for me. Falling asleep in the midst of it is nothing new. Your predecessor saw it plenty of times.”

“I see.” A slight pause as if she didn't know she could ask him anything. “Boss, my sources show that it's normal to fall asleep during meditation, but you're sometimes handling dangerous items in the workshop.”

She left the question unasked. Tony's memory helpfully supplied the tone of disapproval with which Jarvis would have adressed the issue. “If there's a real risk of me hurting myself, Fri, you're allowed to wake me. Like if I'm about to rest my head on the soldering iron, but as long as I'm just sleeping and nothing's causing danger, just let me.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Thanks, babygirl. Good knowing you have my back.”

Entering the communal area he headed straight for the kitchen. This required the strong stuff, so he took out the mocha pot and prepared to make the old-fashioned kind of espresso.

He was watching steam escape the little vent in a mesmerizing spray, when Friday spoke again.

“Boss, Miss Maximoff is headed your way. She seems a bit upset.”

Oh for the love of all things scientific, Tony could not deal with the girl's anger at the world right now. As much as he understood her, losing her parents, the trauma of war and ruin, and more recently the loss of her twin brother, he still felt uneasy around her and his head was not currently capable of anything beyond pathetically whimpering under the throbbing pain in his right frontal lobe. He briefly considered leaving before she arrived, but that would also mean leaving without his coffee. No way would that be a good idea.

True to Friday's prediction the young Sokovian burst through the door to the lounge just as he moved the mocha pot from the hot plate. The open floor plan allowed him to get a look at her before she had crossed the lounge and made it to where he was standing in the kitchen. She was barefoot, in plain black leggings and a ridiculously oversized knitted jumper that reached almost to her knees.

He wasn't sure 'upset' quite covered the mix of emotions on the girl's – no, he corrected himself, woman's – face. Her eyes had that wild, slightly panicked look to them. Her fingers were twisted into the edges of her sleeves, and she scrunched her face up as she took in the sight of him with a considering and concerned frown.

Her speech was hurried, but very quiet. “Mr. Stark. Are you all right? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I was trying to settle some things, and it got away from me, and as it turns out having an open mind is not necessarily a good thing, if you send out stuff you don't mean to and... I'm sorry. Are you okay?”

“I...” Tony had no idea what was going on. “What?”

“I'm sorry. Are you okay?” Wanda repeated.

“Uhh, I have a headache, and I need coffee yesterday, so no I'm not all right.” He blinked and tried to recall the contents of what she'd just rambled at him. “What... are you apologizing for? This is not the hating me and wanting me to die painfully-thing is it? We've talked about that already. Besides, right now, I think all you'd need to do was keep me from my caffeinated sustenance. Pretty sure that'd kill me.” He opened a cupboard and scanned the contents.

She blinked and opened her mouth to speak then closed it again. Repeated the movement twice more.

“Don't make like a goldfish. Your colouring is wrong, kiddo. Coffee?” He took two espresso cups without waiting for her response. No one in their right mind would refuse the properly brewed delicacy.

“Uhhh... we didn't.”

“Didn't what?”

“Talk about that. It's not about that. I... you don't know?” She was looking more baffled by the second, and Tony just poured two espressos and grabbed the dark cane sugar, held it up with an raised eyebrow aimed at Wanda, who nodded briefly.

He pushed one cup along the kitchen counter to where she stood still looking stunned. He didn't bother checking if she took it, he drained his own cup in record time, trying to ignore that it was still a few degrees too hot to drink comfortably. His esophagus had taken worse abuse. He poured another and added the cane sugar, while the slow-creeping tickle at the back of his skull reached his ears and the back of his eyeballs, signaling the caffeine's progress through his system. Thus armed with the second espresso he turned fully to the dumb-founded witch, who had only gotten so far as to blow gently on the surface of the hot beverage.

“How about we sit down and you explain to me – and slowly, please, my head is killing me – what on earth you were babbling about just now?”

She nodded and made her way over to the dining table. Puzzled that she opted out of the considerably more comfortable couches, Tony followed her and took a seat opposite of her at the table.

“So, mind telling me what all that was about?”

“Your headache is probably my fault. I'm sorry.”

He froze, feeling the panic rising in him again. “Nonono, last time you were in my head, I saw all kinds of... I don't wanna talk about that. This is not that. Trust me, I can tell the difference. This is just a headache. Migraine. Probably.”

She didn't look at him. “Sorry.”

He sighed. “The amount of sorries you're delivering is really messing with the whole Wicked Witch-spiel you've got going.” They did serve to make him feel considerably less threatened, though. “Just talk to me?”

“I was working on my control. Vision's been helping me.”

Tony was well aware of that. It had been going on pretty much ever since they all returned from Sokovia. They had fought side-by-side in that battle, and Vision hadn't yet been on the receiving end of her powers, so they had naturally gravitated towards each other, while everyone else was wary of both of them. Vision, the otherworldly being that resulted from the combination of his beloved brainchild and the stone from Loki's sceptre, had been informing him at regular intervals of Wanda's progress. Thankfully there was progress to report. Without that... Tony hadn't forgotten what the cells in The Raft had looked like, nor how she had looked in one of them, and he suppressed a shudder.

Wanda finally decided that the espresso had reached an acceptable temperature and took a cautious sip. “Oh!” Her eyes widened. “That's... strong.”

He nodded. “It's supposed to be. Vision's been helping you...” he prompted her to go on.

“Yes, we've been working with guided meditations to help strengthen my focus.” She took another sip. “Oh my god, this is good.” She finally met his eyes. “How can you drink the stuff from the coffee maker when this is available to you?”

“Because this is a supersonic roundhouse kick to the central nervous system, and even I can only take **so** many of those.” He raised his eyebrows at her, in what he hoped was a meaningful prompt to return to the actual topic of conversation.

“Today I wanted to try something different, so I picked out a different recording for a guided meditation, and it... well... it was different.” Tony had to give it to her, she looked every bit as contrite as the amount of sorries would indicate. “Instead of always just working on improving how I can use my powers as a weapon, I wanted to try one that...” She trailed off.

He didn't follow the reasoning. “Better focus isn't just for combat, kiddo. It can also be for rescue efforts that require a sustained power output.”

“I know, but there's always the unspoken assumption that it's **also** for combat. Even when they... von Strucker's people just had me lifting small things, it was always there.”

Tony swallowed. The Avengers were supposed to be different, better than that. “Is that an assumption you've really met here? Or is it one you feel, because you expect to be met with it?” He had some experience with that sort of thing.

She shook her head. “I'm not sure. That's why I wanted a different meditation. I wanted something that wasn't about my powers. Just about...” She hesitated. “... being... me.”

His headache was slowly dissipating. Not a migraine, then. They always took a lot longer. “I can understand that. I still don't see why that makes you responsible for my headache, though.”

She laughed bitterly. “Turns out I'm not very good. At being me, I mean.”

Her words clawed at his armor, but it was the tone that hit him like a punch in the gut. He didn't know what to say, so he waited for her to continue.

“Something in the meditation about opening your senses to perceive your surroundings got away from me. I opened too much, and I accidentally sent out a wave of... something. I don't know what. Or how, but it drained me. When I came to it had been over an hour, I think.”

“And you came to check on me. I'm touched,” he said drily. At least he now knew why he'd fallen asleep – or whatever it had been.

“Friday told me where you were. And that you were mostly okay. Still, I'm sorry for sending you a wave of my emotions or whatever it was. No wonder it gave you a headache.”

She turned her head away and winced. She probably hadn't meant to let him know how she felt. Far be it from him to involve himself in her inner life, he wouldn't prod her. Would, in fact, prefer to not know about other people's shit, his own was enough, thank you very much.

“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I won't bother you with my... stuff.” She got up, suddenly in a hurry, almost panicked, though a different kind of panic than she'd entered the room with. “Really sorry about the headache. I hope it lifts soon. I'll be... and thanks for the coffee. That was really... nice.”

And just like that, she fled the room.

That night he dreamed of leaning against a boulder, bloodied, drunk and scared, waiting for ordinance of his own making, with his own damn name on it to explode and embed fragments in his very own chest. Only the boulder wasn't in the Afghani desert, but inside the ruins of a collapsed building. And there were two frightened children with him.

He awoke covered in cold sweat.

* * * * *

> Mr. Freeze: I can't be of any help. Much as I want to, I'm not stable.
> 
> Stark Raving: Anything I can do?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: Unless you know how to undo brainwashing and fix my nightmares so I can sleep more than 20 minutes at a time, I doubt there's anything you can do.
> 
> Stark Raving: Is that the reason for the intervals between our chats?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: Yes. I'm healing and my memories are returning faster than therapy can deal with them. It's bad.
> 
> Stark Raving: If I find out something and you're not responding, Who do I contact?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: Hold on. Gotta get permission first.

An hour later there was news.

> Mr. Freeze: Princess Shuri says it's fine to contact her with resources. You can reach her on [this number]. She has better chances of understanding this stuff than I do anyway.
> 
> Stark Raving: Wakanda, huh? I suspected as much. How're you liking it there?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: It's not cold. And it's good that King T'Challa is actually a match for me and is willing to put me down if necessary.
> 
> Stark Raving: Does Cap know of this?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: I haven't mentioned it yet.
> 
> Stark Raving: I guess the inevitable mushroom cloud will tell the world, when you've gotten around to that.
> 
> Mr. Freeze: Funny. On another note. Steve has suggested we ask Miss Maximoff for help. I have given him my permission to set up a talk between her and me.
> 
> Stark Raving: You trust her? With your mind?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: Not on your life. That's why I want to talk to her first at a distance. The reason I'm telling you, is because Steve is adamant she not tell you a damn thing, and I would actually like to know how she manages her loyalties. So maybe not let her know that you know?
> 
> Stark Raving: Deal.

* * * * *

He had expected a call from the young princess of Wakanda, but it was Ulrika whose face graced the screen before him. He grinned broadly at her. “Rigger! Weeks of radio silence, I thought you didn't like me anymore. I've felt so hurt – in the feelings. Wounded, really. How could you?”

She smiled back and grumbled good-naturedly: “Accords Council Mission. Been completely off-grid.”

Oh. He took in the pallor of her skin, the dirt smudges at her right temple, the tense set of her mouth. Maybe he should've started with that. “Bad?”

She nodded curtly. “Joint European task force had walked into a trap. Was pinned down and needed some help. Wish they'd called me in sooner rather than wait until things were FUBAR. Just got back, and I find no less than...” She looked off to the side for a second. “... 43 missed calls from you. Where's the fire, and do I need to be in a hurry? Shit, is it Jim? It's not, is it?”

“No, no,” Tony hurried to reassure her. “There's nothing wrong. Well, nothing more than usual. And Rhodey's as fine as last you saw him.”

Her shoulders visibly lowered by at least an inch and she breathed a sigh of relief. He'd actually managed to make her worried. Shit, that's how Pepper had gotten sick of him, and he couldn't afford to lose any more people. He decided to speak up. “I'm sorry I made you worry. Rule of thumb for future reference: when I feel like sparring with you about an idea, I make the call before I've even checked to see what time it is. You know how it is, being engrossed in what you're doing.” She smiled at that. Good. “If something is actually important to get back to me about, I'll leave a message. Feel free to ignore all other missed calls.”

That at least made her laugh, although the sound was thin and brittle. The sound of trying not to think about unnecessary casualties and latching on to anything to achieve that goal. He made a quick calculation, she was old enough to be his half-sister. They were similar enough. Maybe he could adopt her as such?

“Duly noted. Emergency or no, I was still gonna call you.” That made Tony happier than it should, but he decided not to reflect too heavily on that as he let her English accent – so different from Jar- Vision's – wash over him. “Any news of our Adam Jensen? How's he holding up with the new limbs?”

“Really well, actually. Caldwell informs me that despite how close a call it was, you've probably bought him another handful of years.”

“We,” she interrupted him. “ **We** bought him extra time. Without your nanites, I'm not sure we could've gotten the neural connections in place as fast as we did, and had the procedure lasted any longer, he might not have made it through.” She trailed off as that look of tired sadness settled into her crow's feet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waved off the praise and tried not to let her somber mood affect him. “I swear, Ross' face when he called to request an escort to a more comfortable safehouse for Terminator. Priceless, I tell you.”

Rigger just shrugged. “Not sure I can really appreciate that. Only seen him once or twice, I think.”

“You're not missing out, trust me.” He smirked at her with thinly veiled envy. “Oh and the good doctor also mentioned that our friend keeps asking about, uhhh, Lízočka, I think she said. Maybe let her know?”

That got an actual laugh out of the tired engineer on his screen. “Yeah, Liz makes quite the impression. Not the first time I've heard that particular form of her name. Dunno how she does it.”

He didn't know either, but he suspected her own explanation back in their base covered most of it. Being good at reading people **and** actually having the patience to listen to them, make them feel valued and validated probably went a long way. It had certainly worked on him, and he hadn't even taken her up on the offer of a chat until he'd taken her for a spin in the quinjet. Even that had been brief and without much depth to it. He didn't unload on strangers, and she was still that to him. He decided the best response he could make was: “She sees people.”

Ulrika for her part looked at him and nodded sagely. “Fuck do I know? I'm an engineer, but I think you're right on the money, there. She may look really intimidating, but people always end up liking her. Like they see her seeing them.”

Tony could only agree, and right about now he desperately wanted to **not** talk about personal shit. “And I'm the complete opposite. I look like a million bucks, but people always end up hating me. D'you think she could be convinced to marry me, maybe things'll balance out?”

That elicited a snort from the woman, who proceeded to dissolve into an ugly, coughing laughter, and by the time Tony started worrying for her health the aforementioned Liz stepped into the frame and handed her a glass of water. Oh for fuck's sake. Tony facepalmed, as Liz raised an eyebrow in his direction. “You've been in the room for the entire conversation, haven't you?”

The shorter woman grinned cheekily at him, while Ulrika attempted to recover from the coughing fit. “Whoah, paranoid much?”

“It's a hobby of mine.” He attempted a stern glare, but as expected it was impossible to maintain his annoyance for long. Instead he looked at Rigger. “Is she okay?”

Liz nodded. “Smoke inhalation,” she said by way of explanation. It was enough. “Friday recording this?”

Not a question he'd expected. “Yes, recording's only saved if I want it to be, though. Why?”

“I figure you can get a recorded message to our appendage-challenged friend?”

“Oh sure. That shouldn't be a problem. Speak, and you shall be heard.”

Liz proceeded to rattle off a string of sentences – at least he thought there was more than one sentence – in Russian. Then she switched back to English. “Just well-wishes and standard stuff. You can have Friday confirm, I'm sure, which I assume the esteemed Ross and his staff will demand anyway. Nothing confidential that the staff in question don't already know about if they're on Demidov's case.”

A request to make sure it didn't go anywhere else. He wouldn't have dreamed of it anyway. Friday streamed an English transcription of the message contents on the screen for him. It was as Liz had said, just platitudes, well-wishes, a thank you for having asked about her, and the hopes that his new implants were working for him, and if they didn't, to let her know so she could bash the right people over the head. Completely innocent and humourous – at least if you already knew about the implants. Otherwise it might sound a bit... too interesting. Yeah, even Ross wouldn't be able find anything suspicious here.

Rigger had evidently found her voice again for she was next to speak, although she was hoarse and it sounded pained. “If you two are done going postal service on me...” Both Tony and Liz snorted at that. “...you think we might plan the next visit? I've been looking into spinal cords, consulted with some specialists, and I'd like to come take a closer look at your nanites and what they can do. See if we can come up with a more permanent fix for Jim's spine.”

“All right. Calendar mode,” Liz declared. “And then you'll shut up and hit the showers.”

“Yes, mom,” Rigger rolled her eyes and shrugged helplessly at the screen. Tony didn't bother hiding his amusement.

“I mean it. You reek.” Liz crinkled her nose. “You two nerds set up a playdate, and then I'm marching you outta here.”

While sniping humourously at the self-appointed Florence Nightingale, they still did as ordered not daring anything else. Witnessing this dynamic between the two women made Tony think of Pepper. Clearly Liz was to Ulrika what Pepper had been to him. God, he missed her.

That night he dreamed of the day he had spontaneously roped Pepper into sticking her fingers into the reactor casing in his chest, and what might have happened if she had refused as she had so clearly wanted to. Or if she hadn't been there at all. Or if she hadn't been so sentimental as to salvage his first arc reactor.

He awoke covered in cold sweat.

* * * * *

> Stark Raving: Any news?

Several days passed.

> Mr. Freeze: Nothing good.
> 
> Stark Raving: What's that supposed to mean?
> 
> Mr. Freeze: I need to not be around Steve. Every time we've talked, I take a turn for the worse. I'm not even sure what does it. I can't figure it out.
> 
> Stark Raving: You know I've got room for you here. Just say the word.

More days went by.

> Mr. Freeze: Word. How do we do this?
> 
> Stark Raving: I'll get back to you asap.

* * * * *

Tony was going through another batch of Friday's translations of the Winter Soldier files. They never failed to make him sick, but if Barnes was to have a real chance of recovery it would be paramount to know what had actually been done to him. Aside from limb replacement without anesthetics, electroshock at a voltage that might actually kill a large crocodile, and more old-fashioned forms of torture, they'd also used classic Pavlovian conditioning with both negative and positive reinforcement, both of which had been amplified by some absolutely infernal cocktails of drugs designed to work around the enhancement serum that kept him alive through all of it. He could really have used Bruce for this. All the squishy stuff wasn't his field of expertise at all. Maybe he could borrow Emilie from Ulrika, she wasn't Bruce, but she'd make more sense of the biochem than Tony could.

He had set the confiscated archive up in a separate room. He didn't want it in his workshop. That was his sanctuary, and he needed to be able to go there and tinker away the images the files left in his mind. After so many months of sorting through everything end feeling guilty for exposing his lovely Friday to all these horrors, he was beginning to have a reasonable grasp of how these madmen had approached the creation of the Fist of Hydra. It was while he was deep in the biochem he only had a partial grasp of that Friday alerted him to Wanda and Vision wishing to speak to him.

He left the room to meet them in the hallway.

Wanda looked guilty. Again. Great. At least this time he didn't have a headache to contend with while dealing with her. Now he only had to worry about his paranoia and how he always got all kinds of twitchy around her.

“Well? Where do you wanna do this? Is the lounge good with you?” It came out a lot more brusque than he'd intended. But three hours with thoughts of how Hydra had systematically broken down Barnes' mind still floated in his synapses, and that should be enough to sour anyone's mood.

“I'm sorry,” Vision offered, “we can come back later if this is a bad time.”

“No, no, I've already interrupted my work.” Tony waved the concern away. “Might actually be good to get away from it for a bit. It's...” He huffed not wanting to let them know what he was actually working on and made a decision. “Lounge. What's this about?”

They started walking, their footsteps echoing faintly between the glass and steel of the building's hallways and Vision apparently decided to initiate the real conversation. “Wanda has news. Of a most intriguing sort.”

“Oh really?” That sounded a lot better than having made another fuck-up that required fixing. And now that Tony's thoughts were shifted fully towards the new setting, he also had a suspicion what it might be about.

“Well,” Wanda started, “I have news and a request.” Her accent always became slightly more noticeable when she was nervous. At least he wasn't the only person in the conversation with nerves.

“Let's hear it, then. Good or bad?”

Silence. Nine paces later she drew a shaky breath. “Depends on your opinion.”

Levity might help. “Okay, so you haven't found a cure for cancer, 'cause that would be undebatably good. So with a possibility for bad mixed in but still intriguing. Come on, kiddo, the suspense is killing me here.”

He glanced at her and found she looked confused.

“Steve called me,” she admitted, the words coming out so fast it sounded like it had only been one.

He'd been right. And she had apparently decided to be honest about it. That instantly made him feel marginally safer in her presence. “So? You answered his call to fight in Germany. I kinda assumed you'd stayed in touch, so why is this news? And why would I wanna know about it?”

“Maybe you don't, but I think you should.”

He cast her a very obvious side-long glance, making sure she saw it. “Do you now? Well, consider me appropriately intrigued. Why are you hesitating? Do you need me to promise I won't get angry and kick you out of here or something?” The look on her face told him that had probably been fairly close. “I let you back in here after you threw half a car park at me, kiddo. Do you honestly think a phone call would make me go back on that? Like I said, I actually assumed you'd stayed in touch with Rogers.”

“It's not about him.” She looked straight ahead and swallowed. “It's about his friend. Bucky. The Hydra Soldier.” Her eyes flickered towards him briefly, and he saw her fingers make those twisting motions she always did, when using her powers, but no red wisps manifested. Nervous tick. Interesting. Or maybe she expected him to attack her and was preparing herself. Hell, maybe that's why she'd brought Vision.

Tony's step faltered. It hadn't occurred to him that he might not be the only one Rogers had lied to – or at least lied by omission to. He didn't actually know if any of the Rogues aside from Barnes and the star-spangled man himself knew what had happened in Siberia.

And now she had clearly misinterpreted his hesitation, because she was standing two paces in front of him, hands out, obviously prepared to defend herself. But still no red wisps. God, he was grateful for that. They made him extra twitchy.

Bravado. That was his game. “Now, now, no need for dramatics. I save that for the press, where they're actually useful.” He gracefully weaved around her and kept walking towards the doors to the lounge. Having his back to her was less than ideal for his heart rate, but he would trust Vision to de-escalate a situation, and right now Wanda, too, was running more on nervousness. Fear even. Weird. For someone who could literally look into people's minds and manipulate them it seemed a strange thing to be afraid; especially of someone like him, whom she already knew she could manipulate. Not to mention the ability to rip physical things apart with her mind. Presumably she could do that to people as well. God, he needed to not think about that right now.

He reached the doors and still nothing had happened. Nothing that he could hear or feel anyway. Tony held the door open and turned to look at his two companions. They were standing in the hallway, where he'd last seen. Wanda was staring at him like she'd seen a ghost. Vision had a hand on her shoulder, looking mildly concerned.

“Well, come on,” he waved them towards himself. “Since you wanted to talk, I take it there's more than just this oddly incomplete announcement.” Wanda nodded slowly and he decided that maybe she needed an olive branch more than he did. Or thought he had. Or whatever. Besides he was older and technically also the more mature person in the room, even if he was currently standing in an adjacent room. “How about I fire up the mocha pot and make some of that espresso that had you so enchanted a few weeks ago?”

She nodded again, and he could see Vision give her shoulder a squeeze.

“Today maybe? I can't make coffee while double-jobbing as a doorstop.”

Vision gently nudged her forward, and Tony sent him a smile. One of the genuine ones; reserved for people he knew would not hurt him. Never mind if Wanda had brought him along, because she was afraid of Tony. Clearly Vision supported her in other ways as well. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't actually know anything at all about how she was dealing with the loss of her brother. He had withdrawn from the team and hadn't at all kept up with the day-to-day doings of the Avengers. He'd stuck to funding, inventing, and attempting to clear up messes – especially the international ones. After the Ultron debacle he hadn't trusted himself to anything more, and so he had really only followed the development of their skills and team work – nothing much personal.

Maybe that was why things had gone so wrong with the Accords. He didn't really know them any longer. They weren't his team. And now this young woman – young enough to be his daughter – was under his wing in far more than just financial terms, without him knowing anything much at all about who she was. Ugh, this was why he never wanted to lead a team and had happily left it to Cap to ensure the teamwork running smoothly. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised at how many of them unquestioningly adopted Cap's stance. In fact he should've seen it coming a mile off.

When the pair finally moved to join him, Tony left the door and headed to the kitchen, busying his hands with the production of the promised coffee. Right now the only potential leader here was him and Rhodey, and since the latter was still only partially back on duty with the help of the braces, that left one unfortunate and unwilling Tony Stark. Dammit. And to be a leader for someone who could rip you apart inside as well as out was not high on his wish list. Fuck it all, he'd have to step up. He'd gotten the team all messed up and torn apart, and fixing his own messes **was** high on his list of priorities.

“Sit down,” he ordered with his back to the rest of the room. Yeah, this entire display of superior ease and calm was grating on his nerves and he'd probably need a shower afterwards with all the cold sweat he could feel coalescing on the back of his neck. But dammit, he had spent more than the first half of his life proving everyone right about spoiled rich brats, and he'd made it a bit of a hobby to do the opposite now. Not that anyone really seemed to notice, but who cared; he knew what he was doing and why. “And tell me what it is about Barnes that has you so convinced I'll go off the rails. I promise I won't. I don't make a habit of shooting the messenger.”

“That's not what Steve said.” Wanda sounded no less nervous.

Mocha pot ready, he left it on the stove and turned towards the two of them. Vision sat next to Wanda. “Yeah, Rogers likes to talk about me rather than to me, it seems. Much like the majority of the media outlets, actually, but that's not on you. So come on: What's all this about?”

“Bucky needs help.”

Tony looked at her, unsure which facial expression would be appropriate for the occasion. In the meantime he settled for blank stare. “You don't really think this is news to me, right?”

At least she had the decency to look a little embarrassed at that. “Steve said Bucky might need my help. And wanted me to talk to him.”

He acknowledged the information with a slow nod. “I see. I hope Rogers discussed this with Barnes before divulging his private information to a stranger.”

“He did,” she confirmed. “And I've already talked to him.”

“Oh really? And?” Downplaying the importance was the way to go, he was sure. Tony was inwardly pleased that she had decided to come forward. She was an adult and not under his supervision – at least not in any official capacity – she could talk to whoever she liked. Come to think of it, maybe he should let her know that's what he thought. “You're an adult. I don't keep track of your phone calls. Why would I want to?”

“I can't help him.” She apparently decided to ignore his secondary question.

“Obviously not, since you're not currently with him.”

“But that's not what I wanted to tell you.”

“Right...?”

“Steve insisted that I could not under any circumstances tell you. Bucky didn't seem to care either way. He said that some types of help might only be available in the States, so he would have to talk to you about getting him here.”

“And now you're doing it for him?”

“No, he said it was okay to mention it if I felt it was necessary.”

“Did he now? That's interesting.” He paused for effect, knowing full well that Barnes already had his answer, and any further information he could get him would be pure bonus. “And what made you come and tell me? As far as I'm aware you don't really know Barnes, right?”

She shook her head. “I don't. But I don't need telepathy to tell that he's miserable. I would help, but I don't know enough. I want to learn and find out, but I have no idea where to start. And it will take time.”

Tony heard the unspoken _time he might not have_ loud and clear between the lines. No telepathy necessary here either. He hadn't gotten any real impression of how Barnes was doing, not from the man's texts, which were few and strictly to the point, nor from Shuri who clearly was a pro with doctor/patient-confidentiality, even if she wasn't that kind of doctor, Banner's words skittered through his mind like an obnoxious pest, who knows exactly where the trap is and takes an obscene pride in avoiding it. Was the man really doing that bad?

“So what are you saying? And is this where your request comes in?”

“I'm afraid that Steve is so afraid of you that he's keeping his friend from the help he needs.”

Afraid? That was unexpected. Angry, oh yes. Hell yes, very angry. Tony suppressed a shudder as the rage-blinded eyes above him shone with the satisfaction of impending murder. He snorted. “Oh please, why would he be afraid of me? Last time we met, he...” He stopped himself. He still didn't know what the Duo of Destruction had told the rest about Siberia. And there was no way he was going to. It seemed a little too private. No, a lot.

“He what?” Wanda prompted him.

“You know, that's between me and Rogers, and until we've resolved that, I don't think it's right to involve others.” Back up, back up. “Why d'you think he's afraid of me?”

Wanda hesitated for a long time before she answered. “Bucky is not the only who needs help. But of the two of them, Bucky at least realizes his need.”

“Oh come on. We **are** talking about the same confident, sometimes arrogant Captain Ameridad, right? The one who admonishes us for our potty mouths and does PSAs and motivational videos for school kids, right?”

The witch nodded. “And I don't need telepathy there either. He's... not right. I can't put my finger on what it is, but something is off about him. Something is tearing him apart, and it might be tearing Bucky apart as well.”

Well, that was perfectly in line with what Barnes had written to him.

“Still doesn't explain why he'd be afraid of me.”

She smiled cautiously. “Whatever it is, I think it's more likely to come out while being around a person who rubs him the wrong way. He's probably unaware of the exact nature of it.”

The mocha pot was done and he turned away from her again and poured for all three of them. “Captain America, oblivious? Truly...”

Behind him Wanda snorted softly. “He's a really sweet guy. We all have blind spots.”

Tony couldn't gage her tone and tried to get a read on her as he balanced three cups of espresso to the table. He couldn't tell whether she was talking about Rogers or him. Or herself.

“Hmm. And your request?”

“Help him – or at least help me help him.”

He'd seen that coming. He raised the espresso to his lips and regarded her as he took a sip. Wanda for her part seemed to be bracing herself for... something. Yeah, having withdrawn himself he didn't know the newer Avengers, but they didn't know him either. They'd had only the stories from Cap, Clint and Nat to rely on. He sighed. “Can you be slightly more specific? I don't fix brains. And honestly, if I did, even I wouldn't want me to fix my brain. I doubt anyone else would either.”

She sent him a strange look he couldn't interpret. “You all gave me a chance to fix my mistakes. Bucky never even had a choice. He deserves a second chance more than I did. I don't know what you can do for him. I don't even know what I can do for him, but he needs something other than what he's getting right now. I want to try. It's the least I can do.”

“So, paying it forward, huh?”

“I guess that's what it's called, yes.”

He leaned back and decided to see what her capacity was for this kind of problem solving. “Let's say I'm willing to help out. What are you suggesting?”

The look of surprise on her face was unmistakable. “You would do it?”

“I didn't say that, kid. Just answer my question.”

She scrunched up her brows and he got that feeling that she was reading his mind to find out what his game was. If she did, she'd know soon enough that he was already committed to helping Barnes.

“I'd like to learn more about the brain, the mind. They... Hydra only ever taught me to destroy. They gave me my powers for that purpose alone. I never even realized I might do anything else, but what if I can? And how do I find out? It's not like there's a school for telepathic healing.”

He nodded, pleased with her reasoning. “Psychology and neurology aren't exactly easy fields of study. There's a lot of pre-requisite math, chem etcetera you'd need to learn as well. Basically, you've got a lot of high school and college to catch up on.”

She looked tired at the thought. Tony couldn't really blame her, but that's life; trudging through drudgery to achieve your goals. She drained the last of her espresso and nodded slowly.

“Guess I'm going back to school then.” Just like that. She surprised him. “That won't help Bucky, though. Takes too long.”

“Kid, believe me when I say, getting over trauma from torture or otherwise takes a lot longer and a lot more effort than most people think if they haven't had to do it themselves. By the time you know enough to help, he'll likely still need it.”

She looked at him oddly. “How do you...?

“None of your business, Miss Maximoff.” He held her gaze, daring her to violate his privacy. Again.

She looked away. “No. It's not. Do you think you can find someone who can help him? Or teach me how?”

Had she really not looked at his thoughts? Or was she just hiding it, by pretending she didn't know? “I can't get you enrolled in college until you're officially allowed to be here. Accords or not, there's a lot of stuff that people from a variety of countries want you to answer for.” Her face fell as he spoke. “But I can hire private tutors, maybe even get you a shot at real exams and degrees under a false name – depending on how everything else plays out. Your education is one of those problems that I can solve by throwing money at it. Your status as an international criminal – not so much. I can throw money at an army of lawyers, but even that will only get us so far.”

“I'll take what I can get,” the witch muttered demurely. Highly out of character, it seemed to him. “I don't care about degrees on paper. I just want to know enough to figure out how to help. I don't know about the Accords or the rest.”

Tony considered her attitude. Or lack thereof. This woman was a far cry from the angry witch bent on revenge he'd met in Sokovia. “You should talk to Barton. He's better at life advice than I am.”

“I don't know where he is.”

“He's at home. Call him. I can fly you there if you want. He will not want to see me, probably. And he's definitely not allowed to have any contact with you. But neither am I, so it's not like I'll be telling.”

“Home? I thought he was on the run with the others?”

“He was. But he has a family, so he asked if he could exchange my offer of returning to the compound to a ticket home instead. A request he did not like to make, I might add. Or probably he didn't like to ask me for anything. My lawyers managed to negotiate a house arrest deal for him, so he's off the field for at least two years, but he can be with his wife and kids. I got Lang the same deal. He's in house arrest, too. But he gets to see his daughter.”

Once again Wanda sent him one of those odd looks he didn't know what meant. “I think I'd like that.”

“Oh and regarding Barnes,” he decided to tell her. “I'm already on it.”

He was certain the surprise on her face was genuine. She hadn't snooped in his head. He wasn't sure what to make of that. If anything.

That night he dreamed of electric chairs and red electricity. Of artificial limbs and implants gaining minds of their own and rebelling against the bodies they were attached to. Of children being tortured and children torturing others.

He awoke covered in cold sweat.

* * * * *

> Stark Raving: Wanda came clean. Told me about Rogers and you having differing attitudes towards me. And that you'd talked and about what. Didn't reveal any details – apparently respects your privacy. And she outright asked me to help you, and to help her help you. I don't know how stable she or her powers are, but my limited people skills tell me that she's genuine and my paranoia from having had her in my head tells me it's the worst idea ever. In the end the choice is yours. Start preparing for coming here. Have Shuri call me when you're ready.
> 
> Mr. Freeze: Roger that.

Tony hadn't the faintest why he'd admitted to being **that** paranoid around the young Sokovian.

* * * * *

It was a few days later that the much anticipated call from Shuri came. He'd corresponded with her extensively and knew they had been working on getting their ducks in a row, just waiting for him to give the go ahead.

The princess of Wakanda appeared on the screen. Tony was momentarily stunned at how young she was and then caught himself. He had been no older than her, when he was making some of his own breakthroughs, after all. Christ, had he really been that young? It felt like a different life now. A different world even. He definitely hadn't been that happy. A pang of envy assaulted his flurry of plans. He shoved it away with brutal efficiency.

“Dr. Stark,” Shuri opened with a respectful tone he seldom heard from anyone. He waved it off.

“Just Tony.” She smiled at his correction.

“We're just about ready to ship Sergeant Barnes off to you.”

“And I've got rooms ready. Am I completely off in assuming he's standing in the room with you?”

The young genius grinned. “No. He wasn't sure whether you wanted to see him on screen.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Dammit, Barnes. We're gonna be sleeping under the same roof. I'm gonna see your face sooner or later. If I didn't think I could handle it, I wouldn't have invited you.”

The man in question stepped into view and came to stand behind Shuri's right shoulder. Clad in red robes he looked like a completely different man than the soldier he'd seen in Siberia. Before anything else Tony whistled softly. “Gone native, huh?”

Barnes flashed him a thin-lipped smile. “Trying not to agitate myself too much.”

If Tony had thought the man had seemed hollow in Siberia he had to be a vacuum by now. The once upright posture of a soldier had been replaced with the hunched shoulders of unending defeat. “Shit, Barnes, you look like hell.”

“Told you I was getting worse.” His voice sounded different, too. Or maybe Tony just wasn't remembering the details right. Barnes hadn't spoken much in Siberia, but Tony had heard his voice up close, while he had him in a choke hold.

“I didn't think you were joking, when you wrote it was bad, but... damn. You look like the ghost they say you were.”

The man grimaced. “It's bad enough that I'll tell you what I told T'Challa.”

Tony immediately knew what he was referring to. “To put you down if it comes to it.” If Barnes had looked more like he did in the video from 1991, Tony probably wouldn't have felt sick at the thought. The dead eyes of the calculated killer had been replaced by the numb gaze of despair. The bone-deep weariness he'd recognized in Siberia had only gotten worse. All of a sudden Tony wasn't certain he'd be able to do it.

Perhaps Barnes sensed his misgivings. “If I can't be rehabilitated somehow, I'll need to be locked up, and I don't trust any government to not weaponize me again. My death would be better for everyone. And I know that you'll at least be fair.”

The somber attitude did nothing to make Tony feel better. He got the distinct impression that Barnes' view of what would be fair might not be quite in line with anything Rogers would approve of. With terrible clarity he identified what it was about Barnes' voice that sounded different: the hoarseness of disuse had been replaced by that of abuse. Yeah, the man's stated lack of sleep probably came with complimentary screaming himself awake.

Though his decision to help had long since been made Tony resolved anew that whatever Barnes could or couldn't be held responsible for, the best revenge on Hydra would be to enable him to live again. “Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” he told the man. “My technology might be experimental, but it has certainly worked for me. And I test all of it on myself, so I can promise you that when you come anywhere near it, it isn't harmful... anymore.”

Shuri shook her head with a disapproving frown and Barnes just looked at him as if he hadn't quite processed what he'd said. In truth he might not have. His eyes did look vacant once in a while.

“Foolish white boy. It's a good thing you're as brilliant as you are. Otherwise you'd be long dead,” Shuri said.

“No,” he corrected her. “ **Other** people are alive, because I'm brilliant. **I'm** alive, because I'm lucky.” He didn't feel like going into how many people were dead, because he couldn't reign in his flashy ideas. The odd look on Barnes' face didn't tell him much about the man's thoughts on the conversation.

“Anyway,” Shuri continued. “I have designed a new arm for Sergeant Barnes. We will install it tonight. It will not match the old one in strength unless you upgrade it, but our physiotherapists say that going any longer without it might damage his spine due to the imbalance. We've postponed as long as possible.”

That made sense and he nodded in acknowledgment. “Sounds good. Anything I need to know about it?”

“Nothing you can't figure out by taking a look at it yourself, I'm sure.”

Challenge accepted.

She continued: “If the two of you decide to upgrade it, you might want to take an extra look at the shoulder. We won't be replacing the connectors, it would take too long and be too risky at this point. They might not need it, but they definitely do need to be looked over.”

“Good thing I know an expert, then,” he assured them both with a bit of a smug grin.

She instantly caught on to the fact that he wasn't talking about himself.. “Really? Who?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.” She narrowed her eyes at his refusal.

“There's not much published on the subject of bionic or cybernetic limbs. Someone known for other things?”

“No,” he told her with confidence. “Definitely not someone you'd know. They're flying well below the radar about this. Only reason I know about it is because I met them for different reasons. Next time we talk, I can ask if they want to make your acquaintance, though. Pretty sure they can be convinced.” He finished with a wink.

“I'd love that.” Then she looked over her shoulder to include Barnes in the conversation again. “Well, Sergeant, that clears up that question. Someone whose engineering meets with Tony's approval can't be half bad. You'll be in good hands outside our borders.”

The answering smile Barnes granted her was the softest Tony had seen on any face for a long time. Never mind that his eyes still looked despondent, that smile was probably the most human expression that had rested on that face in a long while.

“So when can I expect my house guest?” Tony carefully phrased the question so it was addressed to both of them.

Barnes looked at Shuri briefly before nodding for her to respond. “Due to his restless sleep, we're opting to keep him under for twenty-four hours give or take. Give his body time to heal as much as possible.”

“So you're sending the poor man on a red-eye flight?”

Shuri nodded. “Twenty-four hours with anesthetics and same while awake and able to mind the healing wounds. Should get him past the critical phase.”

“Right. I'll have plenty of coffee in the house.” He looked at Barnes with mock scrutiny. “You **do** drink coffee, right?”

The man nodded curtly.

“Oh good. Otherwise I don't think I could've worked with you.”

The princess giggled and gently elbowed the tall man by her side. “See? I think you two might find common ground after all.”

“At dawn in just under two days. I'll see you here, Barnes. Always a pleasure talking shop with you, Your Highness,” he grinned at her.

The fallen soldier nodded and they finished the call.

The following two nights he dreamed of dead eyes watching his every move. The Winter Soldier's cold eyes superimposed on the despondent Barnes. Barnes' red Wakandan robes superimposed on his parents' murderer. His own eyes considering the surveillance camera, before shooting it from its placement. Barnes sitting above him with a shield raised for the killing blow, eyes full of rage. Himself bearing down on an unresisting Barnes, intent upon murder, and meeting eyes full of acceptance.

He awoke covered in cold sweat.

When he looked in the mirror it was Barnes' eyes, heavy with sorrow and guilt that stared back at him. He'd be facing the man himself in less than an hour. What had he gotten himself into?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave a comment. If my story raises questions that you'd like answered in future installments, let me know, and I'll see to it.
> 
> When both of the parallel parts 2 and 3 of the series are finished I'll begin posting Part 4, which will be a direct continuation of both. I'd love to hear your thoughts on my characterizations. I try to be loyal to the character concepts - flaws and all. All our heroes are fundamentally good/well-meaning, but everyone has their blind spots and some make worse cocktails than others. Also, recovery's a bitch.


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